


The Consequences of Falling

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, First Time, Gay cowboys & cowgirls, M/M, Season/Series 07, goats wearing panties, gratuitous use of real locations, pretty fluffy for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when you evaluate the same old actions through new eyes, certain truths become self-evident. Or we see what we expect to see.</p><p>Title from k.d. lang's song of the same name.</p><p>Are you breathing<br/>What I'm breathing<br/>Are your wishes<br/>The same as mine</p><p>Are you needing<br/>What I'm needing<br/>I'm waiting for a sign</p><p>My hands tremble<br/>My heart aches<br/>Is it you calling<br/>Is it you calling</p><p>If I'm alone in this<br/>I don't think I can face<br/>The consequences of falling</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slow build, happy ending case fic. The sadness of Season 9 is too much, so I want to make the boys happy. Charlie does too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys get fashion advice and a new case from Charlie.

“Hey, whaddya think?” Dean flashes a smile and makes a dramatic swoop with the serape when Sam looks up from packing his duffle. “Awesome, right?”

Sam shakes his head. “I can’t believe you still have that outfit. And no, it’s not perfect.”

“Aw, c’mon Sam. Why you gotta be like that? Cowboys. Gay cowboys. You gotta have some flair.” He twirls – or whatever the male heterosexual equivalent of twirling is- he does that to the serape one more time. It makes an admirable whooshing sound as it swirls over his shoulder and wraps around his opposite hip. He waggles his eyebrows at Sam. “Eh? Eh? Nice, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes, but he can’t hold in the laugh, dimples on full display. Yeah, that’s what Dean was going for; that ‘you’re a dork but you’re my dork’ look. It warms the cockles of his heart. 

Dragging his attention back to the business at hand, he pokes Sam in the arm. Hard. “Okay, then. What should we pack? It’s not like we got a whole lot of choices. We got plaid, and, um…” he looks in the closet. “Plaid.”

Sprawled out on Dean’s bed, Charlie snuggles deeper into the memory foam. “I vote for plaid,” she puts in.

Dean snorts. “You would. And stop making out with my bed.”

“Your bed loves me.” Charlie spreads her arms. “And don’t mock the traditional clothing of my people.”

“Lesbians,” Sam clarifies. 

Charlie nods in his direction. “And your people,” she adds.

“Hunters,” Sam says. Unnecessarily in Dean’s opinion.

“Plaid and jeans are fine. Put the blanket away, Dean.” Charlie can afford to be smug, her bag is neatly packed and waiting in the trunk of the Impala. 

“You both suck.” Dean tosses the serape in the bottom his duffle anyway. And the chaps. You never know. He throws some underwear in the bag. Socks, t-shirts. It still feels weird to pick and choose what to bring with. There was a time when everything they owned fit in the duffles and the trunk was always packed. Now they leave stuff behind. They have someplace to come back to. He shoulders the bag, kicking Sam’s foot as he passes and patting Charlie on the knee. “C’mon, Your Majesty. We’re gonna be late for ro-day-o school.”

 

The Impala’s chassis shines in the sun, flashing white arrows of light into the other cars. The hum of engine vibrates through Dean’s bones as they drive down the road. Sam in shotgun, Charlie in the back. Perfect.

Dean reaches over and squeezes Sam’s knee. “Music, Sammy. Pick something good.” He gives one more squeeze for emphasis, smacking Sam’s thigh as he pulls away.

From the back seat comes the sound of … something. Cats fighting, Dean thinks. Sam looks as confused as Dean feels. “What the hell?”

Charlie’s eyes are wide when they catch her attention in the rearview mirror. “I thought we’d try something … new?” 

Sam barks out a laugh. Dean backhands him on the thigh, rattling the box of tapes still on his lap. Sam grabs his hand, holds it there. “Don’t make me stop this car,” Dean threatens. Sam still hasn’t let go of his hand. It’s distracting. He slides his hand out, grabs the shoebox.

“But, but, new stuff!” Charlie whines. “Endless. Streaming. No hiss.”

Dean reaches over the back seat and rattles the box of tapes at her. “Rare bootlegs. Tapes off the original vinyl. Tapes painstakingly complied with all the songs in the right order.” He shakes his head. “Barbarian.”

Sam takes the box back from Dean. “Give it up, Charlie. All the armies of Moondor couldn’t help you win this one.” Sam flips through the shoebox, slapping a tape into Dean’s outstretched hand while organizing the rest. Dean doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he slips it in, turning the volume up just on general principle. 

He nods along with the songs as they ride the side roads to the highway. Sam points out the turns, even though Dean knows and Sam knows he knows. It’s just how it goes. Fort Collins, Colorado. 540 miles straight down I-80, make a left at Cheyenne. Dean could do it with his eyes closed. Hell, he doesn’t even need a case, he’d do this drive for the beer and the music alone. He had spent quite a few happy hours in that town a long time ago. Gotta love a college town.

He checks on Charlie in the back seat. She is stretched out, feet up, shoes off, which Dean appreciates, clicking through her phone. “Hey,” he calls.

Charlie raises her eyebrows at him. 

“So, tell me about you and the cowgirl.” He turns the music down, feels Sam looking at him, ready to give him the you’re-such-a-pig face. But he knows Sam is just as curious as he is. They don’t know much about Charlie. “Where’d you guys meet?”

“Well, you know, this ain’t my first gay rodeo.” She drawls. Sam groans. “Oh c’mon, you know somebody had to say it.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be said several times over the next few days,” Sam agrees. 

Dean taps the back of the seat. “So,” he repeats. “You and the Sweetheart of the Rodeo?”

Charlie pulls herself up, crosses her arms on the back of the seat and leans her chin on her forearms. “Her name’s Kate and we met in L.A. I was a sweet young thing working the concession stands at the fairgrounds. She was a sexy cowgirl working the circuit. She’s a roper.”

Dean rolls his eyes over to his brother. Sam is barely holding back a smirk. Dean smiles at him. “Awesome.” He flinches, expecting a smack across the back of his head. 

But Charlie just smiles and looks dreamily out the window. “You have no idea.” 

Awesome, Dean mouths at Sam. Sam shakes his head.

 

Six and a half hours later, they pull into the Bill Pickett Arena on the west edge of town. They could have done it in five and a half if someone (Charlie) didn’t need to pee so often, and if someone (Dean) hadn’t remembered that some diner in North Platte had prize-winning apple pie. Luckily someone (Sam) had remembered the speed trap just south of Cheyenne. Nothing like a speeding ticket to slow down a trip. Ironic, that.

It’s the end of summer, and the foothills of the Rocky Mountains are painted in shades of brown and yellow. The hills look low here, not the dramatic peaks of the actual Rockies, just a rolling swell of land stretching off to the west. A tell-tale line of green behind the arena hints at a river. The air smells like hay and dust and horses. It’s not surprising, given the handful of trailers parked in the dirt lot and the horses tied up near them. A few more horses graze in the fields next to the parking lot. Dean parks the Impala on the paved part of the lot.

“Well?” He turns to Charlie. “Where now?” 

Charlie checks her phone. “I texted her when we turned. Hold on.” A chirruping sound announces a new text. “She’s coming out,” Charlie tells them. “C’mon.” She scrambles out of the car before the men can even open their doors.

Dean catches Sam’s eye over the top of the Impala, waggling his eyebrows at Charlie’s enthusiasm. Sam has got on foot up on the door frame and he’s leaning his elbows on the roof, looking as relaxed as Dean has seen him in a while. It feels good, and it’s been a long time coming, but Dean knows this new peace between them is tentative at best. He twists the stiffness out of his back with a groan. 

“Tough drive, old man?” Sam asks with a smile in his voice. 

“Kate!” Charlie’s yell pulls their attention away from each other. She is running across the parking lot towards the rangy woman headed their way. With a whoop, she leaps into the woman’s arms. They can hear her deep laughter right before Charlie kisses the breath out of her. As the kiss goes on, Dean cheers and claps, Sam right there with him. “Go, Charlie! Woo hoo!” they call.

Charlie disengages, sliding back down to the ground, and walks back to the car, dragging Kate by the hand. When she gets close enough, she punches Dean hard in the arm. “Ouch!” he mock-pouts, rubbing his arm. He points at Sam, “Sam did it, too!”

She sticks her tongue out at Dean, smiles at Sam. “I like him better.”

Kate keeps her right arm around Charlie as she shakes Dean’s hand. “Kate Morrison,” she says. Her handshake is firm and sure, hands work-hardened. She’s about ten years older than Charlie, tall and rectangular, with faded jeans and well-worn boots. 

She reminds Dean of Ellen in the way she her sizes him up. And, as with Ellen, he has the feeling none of his charm will make the least bit of difference to her. He decides then and there to play it straight with her. No pun intended. “Dean Winchester.” He nods across the car. “That’s my brother, Sam.” Sam nods and smiles.

“Nice to meet you, boys.” She lets go of Charlie and adjusts her hat a bit, looking around the parking lot. She looks back at Dean and Sam and smiles. “Nice car.”

Dean grins. He likes her already.

Charlie chortles. “Oh, Kate, you’ve just made a new best friend. Any friend of baby’s is a friend of Dean’s.”

“That so?” She smiles down at Charlie. Patting the Impala on the trunk, she motions towards the large brick building with a tilt of her head. “Why don’t we go inside, get some privacy, some coffee, and we can talk.” She heads off towards the arena.

Charlie takes off after Kate with a skip, but Dean waits for Sam to come around the front of the car. They walk side by side, Sam hovering to Dean’s right and a half a step back. “I miss Ellen,” Sam says quietly as they walk up the steps of the building. 

Dean hesitates a second and Sam’s hand rests on his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “Me, too.” Sam squeezes Dean’s shoulder and keeps his hand there as they enter.

They pass the ticket booth, the concession stand, and a trophy case. A walkway curves behind the wooden benches lining the sawdust arena below. Not much going on down there right now. Dean notes some chutes on one end and a couple of small holding pens on the other side.

“Sorry about the lack of space,” Kate says, pushing open the door to a small office. “I’m just squatting here while the school is going on.” 

Dean pokes through the random papers and mostly empty file cabinets. “So you’re not here all the time?” He catalogues the minimal furniture and objects in the room, idly determining which would make the best weapon for some kind of attack, as if the ivory grip of his MK-IV isn’t pressing cold against the small of his back. Having only one plan is how you get dead. He notices Sam scanning the sightlines as they both maneuver until they have their backs to the wall and clear views of the door and the windows overlooking fields that run down to the first rise of hills.

“Usually we’re down in Denver,” Kate answers, walking over to a small tabletop fridge. “This is just kind of a one-off.” The door opens with an encouraging rattle that catches Dean’s attention. She pulls out a couple of brown bottles, holding them out to the room, one hand holding the door open. “Beer?”

Charlie reaches for one. Dean lifts his chin at the bottles. “What do you got?”

Kate looks at the label as she hands Charlie a beer. “Got, ah, Fat Tire and,” she looks in the fridge, moving bottles around. “Some 1554, and one Easy Street left.”

“I’ll take a Fat Tire, can’t go wrong with the classics.” Kate pops the cap and hands it over. “One for Sammy here, too.” He gestures at Sam with the bottle and sees Sam’s raised eyebrow. “What? You want a 1554? I didn’t think you liked the dark beers.”

Sam scoffs. “And I though you thought microbrews were for douchebags.” He looks over to Kate. “No offense.” He takes the proffered bottle from Dean though.

“None taken,” she smiles over the lip of her bottle.

Dean shrugs. “When in Rome. You don’t turn down local beer in the Fort, Sammy. It’s rude.”

He can see Sam holding back an eyeroll and he keeps the smirk to a minimum in return as they clink their bottles together, meeting each other’s eyes before drinking. Dean sees Sam’s look of surprise as he pulls the bottle away to check out the label again. “Everything okay, Sam?”

“It’s good,” Sam shrugs.

“That it is.” Dean takes another swallow, relaxing a little as the minutes tick by and nothing jumps out at him. It has always been tough for him to relax in a new place, new circumstances. Since Purgatory, it’s near impossible. Sam’s here. That helps. But he feels kind of trapped in the small room.

Charlie clears her throat and Dean lifts his beer to Sam in small salute, giving her his attention. She points at Kate who has settled on the chair behind the desk. Charlie perches on the desktop. 

“So,” Kate asks, “You want to hear more about the job or keep flirting?”

Dean flicks a look over to Sam, then over Charlie who shakes her head no the minutest amount. “The job,” Dean answers, just as Sam is opening his mouth. Sam shuts it, looking at Dean with a small frown line between his eyebrows, but he turns back to Kate.

“Charlie told us you’ve been having some incidents?” Sam uses his sincere voice and the puppy dogs eyes. And damn Dean if it isn’t working. Kate smiles at him like all women, gay, straight, bi, young, or old, do. Like they want to mother him or sleep with him. Or mother him and then sleep with him. Or the other way around. Whatever. People trust Sam in a way they don’t trust Dean. That’s what makes Sam the more dangerous of the two. Dean’s not hiding anything. What you see, is what you get. He knows he comes across as cocky and dangerous. And he is. Sam comes across as gentle, despite being a giant wall of muscle, and harmless, despite a body count higher than most serial killers.

Kate nods and runs her hands through her hair, glancing at Charlie. Charlie opens her eye wide and nods in what Dean imagines is supposed to be a reassuring manner. He knows how Kate feels; he’s seen it a thousand times. Things you’ve been thinking seem simultaneously more real and more ridiculous when you say them out loud.

Charlie reaches down and gently takes Kate’s hand. “Tell them what you told me, Kate. Believe me, the boys have seen shit you can’t even imagine.” Her eyes flick over to Sam and Dean as they shift. “Things you don’t want to imagine,” she continues, voice low. 

Dean feels bad for putting that tone in her voice and that look in her eye. Another civilian dragged into the life. He holds up his empty beer bottle at Sam, nods at the fridge. Sam nods yes. Dean walks to the fridge and pauses, one hand on the door. “Kate? D’you mind?”

She shakes her head. “Help yourself.” Dean pulls out one for him, one for Sam. Holds one up for Charlie who shakes her head. Kate’s first one is mostly untouched, so he doesn’t bother. He pops the caps and walks over to Sam, leaning up against the wall, shoulder to shoulder.

“So, Charlie said it was mostly normal poltergeist level stuff? Things thrown across a room, stuff moved?”

Kate barks a laugh. “Yeah, I guess. If you call that normal. But, yeah. Stuff was moved, broken. Tired slashed. Seemed to be targeted at a couple of people.”

“Who?” Sam asks.

Kate purses her lips and looks up at the ceiling. “Marge Keller was the first one. All her framed photos were smashed. Then David Espinoza. All of his CDs were pulled out of their cases and snapped. All the air was let out of Kim’s tires. Every one of them - truck, trailer, ATV.”

Sam and Dean exchange glances. “That’s nothing that sounds like our line of work though.” Dean shifts a little restlessly. Sam hip checks him gently. “Well, it just sounds like a…pissy girlfriend or something.” Sam doesn’t disagree. 

Now it’s Kate and Charlie’s turn to exchange troubled looks. Charlie rests her hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Just tell them.”

Kate rolls the beer bottles between her palms. “Truthfully, that’s what I thought at first. I mean, there’s a lot of people in the circuit, even on our smaller IGRA circuit, but you tend to run into the same ones over and over, especially the professionals. And sure, there’s drama just like everywhere.”

Charlie rolls her eyes, nudged Kate. “Remember Kristen and Amber in Cheyenne? That thing with Ken?” Kate scoffs and shakes her head at past drama.

Dean is just straightening up, finger raised, to ask more about Kristen and Amber and Ken when Sam’s pointy elbow catches him right in the ribs. “Ow.” He elbows back just as hard. “Prude.” Sam is just about to retaliate and Dean’s planning his next move when they freeze at Charlie’s pointed throat clearing.

Dean quickly snaps on his most innocent attention-paying expression. Charlie is obviously even less impressed than his elementary school teachers were. 

“Sorry,” Sam apologizes to the room. “So was there, uh, drama around these incidents?”

Kate rocks her hand in the universal gesture for maybe yes, maybe no. “Not drama, really. Poor communication, maybe. Someone said they saw David going off with that new guy from out by Grand Junction. But I think they were just looking for his dog.”

“But then it got worse,” Charlie prompts. Kate makes a pained expression, rubs both hands through her short hair. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

Dean snorts. Even Sam fights to hold back a smile. “Look, let’s just shortcut through the ‘you won’t believe me’ and ‘try us’ part of this conversation and tell us what you saw.”

The papers on Kate’s borrowed desk flutter with the force of her exhale. She tilts back the now-warm beer with a speed that earns her an approving look from Dean. “I think I saw a ghost.” Charlie rubs her shoulder gently. 

Kate’s concerned look slips into fondness, Dean can’t help but notice. Good for Charlie. He likes this Kate chick. Probably work out for Charlie better than the fairy anyway. Fort Collins is a lot closer than Fairyland. Probably. Who knows?

Dean’s attention wanders a little as Kate describes what sounds like a run-of-the mill ghost problem to him. Restless spirit, bordering on vengeful. A salt-and-burn, as soon as they find out the who, what, where, and why now. Outside the window, the sun is sinking into that perfect golden hour, making the hills glow and throwing sparkles off the pond. Dust rises from the far holding pens and the light streaks through it like a picture in a Sunday-school classroom. He can hear the barking of dogs and the voices of the small crowd of men and women practicing roping on some barrels. It looks like fun. He comes back to the room when he feels Sam shift next to him; the stretch of his leg chilly now that Sam is not pressed against it.

“It does sound like something we should look into,” Sam is saying. “What do you think, Dean? Library?” he looks down at his watch, looks up at Dean. “Tomorrow?”

Dean leans up, stretches. Between the drive, the beers, and the slanted afternoon sunlight coming through the windows, he just wants a nap. “Sounds great. And we’ll talk to the vics, see if we can find some pattern. See if it’s tied to this place or something you brought with you. But for now, dinner? Find a room? I thought I saw a place out by the highway.”

Kate and Charlie stand up. “Don’t worry about it,” Kate says. “I’ve got a trailer you can use. Couple of friends of mine aren’t using it during the week.”

The muffled boom of an explosion rattles the window and a flare of red light floods the room. Dean hits the floor hard, pulling Sam with him. Turning his head, he sees Charlie half covering Kate’s larger body. Sam’s got his gun out, scanning the room from the floor. They can hear the screams of people and horses. Kate struggles to get up, but Charlie holds her back, looking at Dean. He holds up a finger, listening, then nods. Outside the window, the idyllic picture has been shattered. Flames engulf one of the trailers parked near the back of the lot. The ground around it is scorched black. A few men and women stand in shock while others scramble to drag horses away, and haul buckets of water to the burning wreckage. 

Dean meets Sam’s eyes and jerks his head towards the door. Sam nods, tucks his gun back in his jeans, and the moves quickly towards the door. Kate and Charlie are already half way down the hall. Sam grabs the fire extinguisher as they run past.

By the time the make it out to the lot, the fire is mostly out. The ground is soaked, muddy runnels forming around tires and feet and fence posts. A couple of people take buckets of water and fire extinguishers and start walking into the fields around the arena, eyes locked on the ground, looking for any stray ember. Dean looks around at the dry grasses waving in the sunset breeze, sees the brown and yellow stretching away north and south from where they stand. The place is a tinderbox. 

The wind blows the smoke from the smoldering remains of the trailer towards Dean. Underneath the smell of kerosene and melted plastic is that sickly-sweet acrid smell Dean is unfortunately far too familiar with. Kate’s hand flies up to cover her nose and mouth, her eyes wide and terrified. “Oh god,” Charlie whispers, pulling Kate against her.

Sam leans in, hand discreetly over his nose, too. Dean knows Sam hates the smell of burned flesh even more then he does. “I’m gonna –“ and he looks pointedly at the crowd gathering around the scene and circles his finger. 

“Yeah, good. See if you can find out, ah, who –“ Dean runs his hand over his head and exhales as Kate turns her stricken-glance to him. 

“Yeah,” Sam says, striding off to do some crowd control.

Dean takes Kate by the shoulders and turns her away from the gruesome sight. A dark-skinned man with salt and pepper hair strides rapidly up to them. He does a quick up and down check of Dean, frowning when he can’t place him, and grabs Kate by the upper arm. “Kate. What the hell is going on?” he snaps.

Dean keeps an eye on where he’s holding Kate. He relaxes when Kate reaches up to grab his hand. “Gunny. Thank god. I have no fucking idea what’s going on. Whose trailer was that?”

Gunny shakes his head and smacks his cowboy hat against his chaps, back and forth. The brush of felt on leather is oddly soothing. “I don’t know. I think it was Carol’s, Luce’s girlfriend. You know, that barrel racer from Laramie?”

The sound of sirens rise and fall and Dean can see the lights coming towards them in the rapidly darkening sky. He needs to get a look over there before it gets too dark. “Charlie, I gotta talk to Sam. You okay here?”

“Yeah. Go. I’ll take care of this.”

Dean claps her on the shoulder before running to the Impala. He rummages through his bag, pulling out a flashlight and the EMF meter and jogs over to Sam.

Sam is standing with two young women, one hand absently petting a dog that’s leaning against him. He looks over when he hears Dean’s footsteps.

Dean stops, checks out Sam quickly. He knows it’s ridiculous. Nothing could have happened in five minutes. But it’s habit after almost thirty years; he can’t stop it. “What do we got, Sam?”

“Best guess? Propane tank explosion.” Sam indicates the girls with a wave of his hand. “Doreen and Sunshine here said they saw flames by the back of the trailer right before it exploded.”

Dean raises one eyebrow at Sam. The Sunshine? is implied. Sam conveys shut up quite clearly with the twitch of the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?” He looks at the girls. They nod. “Did you see anybody near it?”

Double head shake, though one of them, Doreen he thinks, is a second slower to answer. Sam notices too. “Doreen? Did you see something?”

She looks away. “I – I don’t know. Maybe.” Red light flashes across the parking lot as the fire trucks pull in. They don’t have much time. Dean elbows Sam discreetly, flashes the EMF meter at him. “Tell me, whatever it is. It might help.” Dean hears Sam say as he walks to the remains of the trailer.

There’s not much left of the old trailer and what is left is doused with water and fire extinguisher foam. He waves the meter near the blacked propane tanks: red lights across the board. He shakes his head and looks out across the fields to the dark shadow of the foothills as though he can see the vengeful spirit they are obviously dealing with.

A couple of firemen are headed their way and Dean knows that they are looking at hours of investigations and yellow tape and interviews. He is never excited about getting up close and personal with any kind of law enforcement. It’s definitely a ghost. And how exactly the ghost blew up a trailer really isn’t Dean’s concern. What he and Sam need to figure out who it was and where it’s buried before someone else gets killed. Tomorrow’s going to be interviews and research for sure.

 

 

It’s late by the time Sam and Dean get settled in the borrowed trailer, which is tiny but nice enough. The maple wood and the mauve and grey color scheme puts it at least twenty years old but it’s got a small TV/VCR combo and a bunch of tapes Dean is going to look through if they have any down time. 

Dean sits at the table in a t-shirt and boxers, rapidly working his way through a huge sandwich. Thank god for places that deliver. Sam comes out of the closet-sized bathroom, hair wet, his boxers and t-shirt clinging damply to him. He makes a face as he pulls the cotton away from his legs. “I hate getting dressed when I’m still wet.”

“Just be glad you can fit in that shower, dude,” Dean says around a huge mouthful of turkey, bacon, and guacamole. He holds the sandwich out to Sam. “This is awesome. Want some? Turkey and guacamole. Practically vegetarian.” Sam’s eyebrows rise but he takes the proffered sandwich. Dean laughs as Sam groans happily. “Right? Trust a college town to have excellent sandwiches.”

Sam nods and opens his mouth for another bite. Dean snatches it away before he can, and Sam’s teeth close on nothing. “Mine.” He shoves the other white-paper wrapped at Sam. “This is yours. Extra veggies. Spicy mustard, like you like.” He slides over a can of root beer and a bag of potato chips. Sam’s smile is so bright, you’d think Dean make the food himself. “Stop grinning like a loon. Eat.”

Sam sits with his back pressed against the wall, leg up on the bench seat, one arm stretched out across the banquette. He looks thoughtful, staring out at middle distance as he taps his bare foot against Dean’s shin with the rhythm of the song in his head. Outside, some night birds are singing, and every now and then a horse whickers or a dog barks. The breeze coming through the screened windows carries a hint of autumn. It is a gorgeous night, Dean has to admit.

“This is nice,” Sam says, rubbing against Dean’s shin and smiling at him.

Dean rolls his eyes, shoves the last of his Cheetos into his mouth, and brushes the clinging orange dust of his hands. “Yeah, except for the charred corpses and the killer ghost, it’s great.”

Sam rolls up the wrapper for his sandwich and throws it at Dean’s head. “Why do you have to ruin the mood?”

“What mood? No wonder you never date, if you think trying to eat sandwiches while looking at your freakishly large body sets some kind of mood.” But it is kind of nice to be on a basic salt and burn. Just takeout food and vengeful spirits. No world-ending horror lurking around the bend.

He yawns and slides out of the bench seat. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him. Sam’s foot is cold when Dean grabs it, and he shakes it back and forth. “C’mon. Bedtime. And put some socks on. I don’t want to feel your cold, clammy feet in my back in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam drags himself out of banquette. “Research tomorrow? I’ll hit the library while you poke around here?” Dean nods. Sam rubs his hand up and down his arms, smoothing away the goose bumps. “We need to figure this out quick. That is one pissed off, dangerous spirit.”

“No shit. Propane tanks are a bitch to make explode.” Dean slips behind Sam to get to his duffle bag. Sam’s skin is chilled with the night air and the dampness of the shower. He steadies himself with a hand on Sam’s hip as he passes by. It’s a small trailer.

Sam laughs. “And you know that how, Bill Nye?”

“Saw it on Mythbusters,” Dean says, digging for some pants. “They had to use a min-Gatling gun with incendiary bullets to blow it up.”

“Oh, you must have been so jealous.” Sam’s eyes are crinkled up with the strength of his smile. 

Dean can’t not smile back. “You know it. Never fired one of those.”

Sam reaches out his giant hand and scrubs it across Dean’s head like he’s an eight year old. “Dream big, little boy.”

Dean swats his hand away. “Bite me.” Now it’s his turn to suck in his gut as Sam passes behind him to open the plywood door to the bedroom. His hand lingers on Dean’s side as the door swings open, fingers slipping into the gap between t-shirt and waistband. Dean sucks in a breath. Sam is going to be the death of him and he doesn’t even know it. 

“One bed,” Sam announces. 

“Yeah?” Dean isn’t really paying attention.

“I can sleep out here, I guess.” Sam frowns, looking back at the dining area table. The bed it sets up into will be maybe 5 ½ feet long. 

Dean laughs. “Yeah. That’s not gonna work. Just get in bed. I’m going to check the salt lines.” He slips on his jeans and grabs a bag of rock salt. It might blow away overnight, but he’s lining those propane tanks anyway. A little protection is better than nothing.

After he spreads the salt around the tanks, and debates putting a circle around the entire camper, he leans against the trailer, looking at the stars and breathing in the thin air. Pulling out his cell phone, he punches in a text to Charlie. _Salted?_

_Like a big pretzel_ , she texts back. The phone buzzes again. _I can see you standing out there. Go to sleep. Sam’s waiting_. He thinks about texting her again, but can’t think of exactly what he wants to say. He lines the metal steps of the trailer and opens the door. The knowledge that Sam actually is waiting inside, safe and alive, where Dean can see him and touch him, sits warm and comforting in his chest.

When he slides into bed, Sam harrumphs slightly. “Cold,” he mumbles as Dean’s arm brushes his. 

Dean reaches his foot down to find Sam’s. Socks, good. Sam’s ice-cube toes are legendary. “Go to sleep, Sammy.” Dean turns on his side, sliding until he feels Sam’s back warm and strong against his. They haven’t had to share a bed since before Purgatory. They are not even in the same room in the Batcave. It’s been a long time since he’s felt Sam’s body rising and falling against his in his sleep. Feels different than he remembers - still calming, but there’s an awareness there that prickles on his skin, at the places where they touch, and in the palms of his hands. He forces the thoughts away, matching his breathing to Sam’s and counting breaths until he slips into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlie is very brave and tells Dean things he doesn't want to hear.

The next morning, there’s no hiding from the sun. The thin white curtains stop exactly zero light from coming through. The flipping birds sound like they’re inside the trailer. That’s it. They’re closing the damn windows tonight. Dean doesn’t care if they suffocate. He groans and flips over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. The bed’s empty next to him, and he hopes Sam and his freakish early bird ways have jogged somewhere for coffee. They’ve got to do some shopping today. And deal with a dead body. At least it wasn’t two bodies. Apparently Accountant Guy from Grand Junction was in his own trailer yesterday afternoon. Lucky for him.

Stretching out on the bed, working out the kinks, he moves onto Sam’s side of the bed and realizes it’s still warm. Maybe it was Sammy leaving that woke him up. Sometimes his body registers Sam leaving and sometimes it doesn’t, depends on what’s going on with them.

Dean catalogues the sounds and smells of the world waking up around him. Livestock moving around, cattle and horses from the school, sheep from the University research farm behind them. The acrid scent of burnt metal and plastic still lingers in the crisp morning air. He also hears Sam’s low rumble. So he hasn’t gone far yet. Dean struggles to a sitting position, fighting the bed’s gravity. He doesn’t have to move much to get to the window, the bed fills almost the entire space. A quick glance shows Sam is talking to someone. His ginormous body blocks most of the other person, and it’s a little hard to see clearly through the fly screen, but Dean gets a flash of pink plaid and red hair and uses his finely-honed powers of deduction to figure it must be Charlie. And that’s pretty much all his brainpower used up before coffee. 

He wraps on the wall of the trailer and calls out the window. “Sammy. Coffee.” Sam doesn’t even bother turning around, just stretches his arm back and holds up one finger in the universal sign for one minute. “Coffee, Sam,” Dean repeats, louder this time. Sam holds up a different, yet equally eloquent, finger. Dean laughs. Charlie’s arm comes out from behind Sam holding a white bag of something greasy as they continue their conversation too quietly for Dean to make out what they are saying. It’s doesn’t matter. That bag is saying all he wants to hear right now.

“Stop talking,” he says out the window. “My breakfast is getting cold. Where are you going anyway, Sam?” He presses his forehead against the thin cloth screen, checking to see if he can smell coffee.

Sam turns and walks the two steps to the window. He flicks his fingers against Dean’s head. “I was going to get you coffee, but Charlie beat me to it.”

“S’why I like her better,” Dean answers, headbutting Sam’s hand where it presses against the screen. 

Sam’s laugh is low and light, the one only Dean ever seemed able to pull from him. He scratches at Dean’s head as best he can through the screen. “You’re like a big cat.”

Dean pulls away, sitting up on the bed, scratching idly at his stomach. “So get me some catnip, bitch. But seriously, where are you off to?” Sam looks around like he’s not quite sure now that his breakfast mission had been aborted.

“Kate’s up,” Charlie offers. “Her trailer is that big one over there.” Charlie points to a huge fifth-wheel hooked up to an equally impressive Suburban.

“Nice,” Sam says. He leans back to the window. “Okay, Juliet, get off your balcony and get dressed. I’ll go talk to Kate. Meet us after you become human?”

“Why am I always Juliet?” Dean mock complains, rolling across the bed to the side with actual floor space. 

“’Cause you’re the pretty one,” Sam answers. “Fifteen minutes.”

Dean steps into the jeans he left crumpled on the floor. “I’m coming in,” Charlie calls through the door. “You’d better not be naked.”

“You wish.”

The light aluminum doors slams against the wall. “Sorry!” Charlie apologizes but she’s carrying coffee, so Dean doesn’t care.

They slide into the little banquette and Charlie slides the bag over him. Inside is the biggest cinnamon bun he’s ever seen. “Silver Grill?”

“Silver Grill.” She smiles.

“I really do like you more than I like Sam.” He bites into the gooey mess and rolls his eyes at the deliciousness.

Charlie sighs deeply. When Dean looks over at her, she’s sitting with her chin resting on her fist and looking at him with a look he knows too well. That’s the look of someone with bad news. He lowers the bun to the table. “What?”

She switches hands and sighs again.

Dean looks at her over his cup of coffee. Charlie would have mentioned it first if someone else was dead. And it can’t be something new about the case or she would be bouncing with excitement. So it’s personal. Awesome.

He takes a sip of coffee then motions to her with the cup. “Look, are you going to talk or just sigh at me. Because let me tell you, I’ve been sighed at by the master. Your girly sighs got nothing on Sam.”

“Funny you should mention Sam.” She rests her chin on both fists now.

Dean leans forward, no trace of humor on his face. Charlie’s eyes widen and she leans back, away from Dean. She holds up her hands, “No. I mean. Sam’s fine. He’s not in danger or anything. It’s not…” She trails off, looks away.

“Charlie.” She knows better than to fuck with him when it’s about Sam. “What?”

Charlie inhales deeply and lets out a stream of words with her breath. “You can’t tell anyone here that you’re brothers.”

Well, that wasn’t remotely what he was expecting. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he’s got nothing. He shuts it, frowns and settles for asking “What? Why?

Charlie stares at him like she’s reading his face, searching for an answer. Dean feels something flicker deep inside, knows it’s showing in his eyes. She sighs again. “Short, tough-love answer, or longer, more emotionally sensitive answer?”

“Short and brutal. Just like you.”

She smiles wide at the compliment and then her face gets serious again. “Because .. because of the flirting.” She stares at him, eyebrows lowered, determined to talk about this.

Suddenly the coffee and cinnamon bun sit heavily in his stomach. He blinks rapidly, then faux-relaxes back against the bench seat. “Again I say – what?”

Charlie just gives him a pitying look that warns him not to try to con a con man. “In Kate’s office yesterday you were flirting. And just now. He flirts with you. Like all the time.” She waves her hands in the air. “And you,” she points at him. “You flirt back.” Dean tries to keep all expression off his face. Charlie holds his eyes, “You do.” She sags back against the bench seat. “And, and, I just don’t want…It’s just easier if people don’t know you’re brothers.”

Dean holds himself still with an effort. “No. We..he…Sam wasn’t flirting. He’s just Sam. He’s just a touchy…smiley guy.”

Charlie’s expression is somewhere north of skeptical, one eyebrow disappearing beneath her bangs. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“Sam doesn’t flirt with me!” Dean’s hands are tight on the edge of the table, and he looks out the window.

“Dean, he does it all the time.” She reaches over like she might pat him on the arm, but stops short, hand dropping on the table near Dean’s hand. “Every time I see you guys together. And you? You can’t be in the same room without being within arm’s reach. I know, Dean. I see. And these people here? This particular crowd? They’re gonna see it too. So, just…maybe it would be…easier to not be brothers here.” The words rush out of her in one breathless whoosh. 

Oof. Dean’s heart feels like it skips a beat and maybe he should get that checked out. Somewhere, someday when he has health insurance. Does being a Man of Letters come with benefits? Because he might need them. He’s getting dizzy.

Charlie punches him hard on the arm. “Breathe,” she orders. 

Dean sucks in a deep breath. Looks away. Runs his fingers through his hair. When looks back, Charlie’s eyes are soft, concerned.

“Look,” she says, pulling off a piece of cinnamon bun and eating it. “I get it. I know what you guys are to each other, what you’ve been through. I’ve read the books – “

“Fucking Chuck,” Dean growls.

“Prophet, Dean. Not a lot of choice. Anyway. I know what you are to each other and it’s good.” 

Dean’s risks looking directly at her. 

She’s smiling, it’s shaky, but real. She grabs his forearm across the table. “It’s good,” she repeats. “Now maybe out in the real world with all the straights and people who know you’re brothers, it doesn’t get noticed. People don’t see what they don’t want to see, and you guys are always together. People get used to it. But here?” And she waves her arm to encompass the entirety of the school, the arena, and the whole International Gay Rodeo Association. “Here, we notice. When the difference between getting head and getting your head bashed in depends on how well you can read the signs, you get pretty damned good at picking up the subtle signs. Trust me. And you guys…” She lets that hang there, shaking her head slowly, smile gone. 

“Fuck!” He rubs his hand across his mouth and chin, keeps it there as he looks at Charlie. “Fuck.” He really really wants to be able to deny what she’s saying. That cinnamon bun feels like it’s starting to crawl back up his esophagus. He really has been telling himself it’s just Sam’s way. And maybe it is. Charlie’s not a mind reader, she can’t know how Sam feels. And never mind how Dean feels, that’s irrelevant. “Son of a bitch.”

She touches his arm, gently. “It’s okay. Really. Just don’t tell anyone you’re brothers. I won’t. Her eyes search his face when his hand doesn’t drop and he doesn’t seem any less upset. “What?” Her brow wrinkles.

Dean doesn’t think he could answer her even if he could get his swirling thoughts under control. He feels like there is a tornado in his brain sweeping up everything in his path. He knew this would happen if he thought about it, about Sam. Sam and his touches and his smiles and that body. “Fuck,” he says again from behind his hand.

“Are you okay?” Charlie reaches up as if to check his forehead for fever. He swats her hand away. 

“No, I’m not okay. Would you be?”

“If Sam was flirting with me?”

“Stop saying that.” Dean’s voice rises on that and he quickly checks around to see if anyone heard. “Don’t say that. Sam’s not flirting. It’s just Sam.”

Charlie puts her hands on her hips. “Dean, c’mon. I know flirting when I see it. And unless you’re more emotionally stunted than even I thought, you know.”

Dean gives her a bitch-face that would do Sam proud. “Yeah, maybe. But, so what? Say I do know, not that I’m saying that, and say even you know and every cowboy on the lot knows. It still doesn’t matter, because I don’t think…”

Now it’s Charlie’s turn to cover her mouth, her eyes wide over the top of her hand. “You don’t think Sam knows. Sam doesn’t realize he’s flirting.”

Dean’s laugh is bitter. He looks away from her. When he looks back, her eyes are even wider. 

“But,” she says slowly. “You do.”

And fuck it. If she wants to go there, he’ll go there. It’s a relief in a way to have someone to talk to about his fucked up feelings. Even if she says he’s crazy and sick, which, replaying the last few minutes he’s pretty sure she’s not going to do. So. He exhales heavily. “Maybe. Maybe. Okay, fine. Yeah, I know. Took me a while to realize what it was. Not like we’ve been in a good place since I got back.”

“What changed? When?” She pulls the paper bag closer towards her and picks off another piece of cinnamon bun.

Dean shrugs. He thinks he knows but it sounds stupid. He blows air out between his lips. “I don’t know. Maybe. I guess after Amelia was gone.”

“When Sam broke up with Amelia. And you broke up with Benny.” He looks up her quickly, but she looks completely sincere.

“What?” He’s got to stop saying that. He sounds like a moron. He grabs the bun back from her. He leans across the table, right up close to her. “Listen. Benny was a friend. He saved my life over and over.” His voice is deep now, angry. That wound, his betrayal, is too fresh. It’s none of Charlie’s or Sam’s goddamn business what Benny was to him.

She leans in closer to him. Dean is impressed despite himself. “I know that. And I’m not making fun of you or anything.” She grabs his hands. “I’m trying to help here, Dean. Is there someone else you’d like to talk to about this? Kevin? Cas?”

“I don’t want to talk about it at all.”

She laughs and lets go of him. “Me neither, dude. Trust me. And yet here we are.” Her stare is challenging.

Dean glares back at her. “You know what? I don’t have to be here.” He starts to get up. Her hand on his arm stops him.

“And what are you gonna do, Dean? Let me guess. Stop flirting back? Get all cold and distant with Sam? Don’t stand so close to him, don’t look at him so much. Maybe try to find some token straight girl here or in town to flirt with?” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks a challenge at him.

She’s like 99% dead right about his semi-coherent thought process and it stops him dead in his tracks. What the fuck did Chuck write about in those books?

Charlie presses on. “And how do you think Sam’s going to react to that? He might not be aware that he’s flirting with you, but he knows how you respond to him. You flirt back, Dean. You do.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, shuts it. Why bother? Charlie obviously has his number. He can make rationalizes to himself, justifying it six ways to heaven, repress and deny til the cows come home, but he can’t lie to himself. So yeah, he flirts back. So sue him.

“You don’t want to talk about this with me, but would you rather do it with Sam?” Charlie is relentless. Maybe she should be a hunter.

“Jesus, Charlie.” He would prefer go to his grave without that conversation, thank you very much. It’s not like he has that long of a life expectancy anyway, a few more years of (incestuous, gay) sexual frustration wouldn’t kill him. Probably not. “You can’t tell him.”

“I would never, Dean. Come on.” She looks offended, and he remembers that Charlie is not without secrets of her own.

He rubs his hands through his hair. “So what am I supposed to do?”

She scrunches up her face, mouth twisted off to the side, like she’s really thinking about it, and Dean can’t help but love this brave, smart girl, who tackles head on things any sane person would run from. Like confronting Dean Winchester about his ….feelings about his little brother. Even Dean hadn’t been that brave. He can’t help himself, he smiles and reaches out for her hand. He turns it palm up and strokes her palm, looking down at how small it is. He sighs and looks up, still holding her hand. “So? Your plan?”

“Act…natural?” She raises both eyebrows and gives a strained smile. His laugh is just as strained. “Seriously. Just keep doing what you’re doing. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“If we weren’t brothers,” he say, voice tense. He’s just so fucked up.

“No.” Charlie’s response is immediate and it startles Dean. She grabs his hand. “No. I wouldn’t advertise to the world at large, because it’s none of their fucking business.” Dean makes a face at the curse. Charlie hits him on the arm again. She seems to really like that. “It’s not, Dean. It’s not the world’s business. You boys, what you did, what you do, what you are to each other.” She shakes her head. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Dean huffs out a disbelieving laugh, but the words…they fit into this small place in Dean’s heart that he can’t look at right now. He gives her hand a squeeze and releases it. “So what did you tell Sam? I assume you said something to him just now.”

She takes the last bit of his bun and eats it, washes it down with the last of his coffee. “I told him not to tell anybody you guys were brothers and that I would explain why later.”

“And that was good enough for him?” Dean knows Sam. That wasn’t going to hold him for very long.

She shrugs. “I have a very honest face.”

Dean grabs his coffee cup back. “Yeah, for a breakfast thief. Kate knows we’re brothers?” Dean tries to remember if he introduced Sam as his brother. He usually does. They both do. Like ‘my brother’ is a title that goes with the name.

Charlie looks guilty when she nods yes. “It was when I was telling her about you guys. I’d forgotten what it was like, in this world.” 

Dean leans back against seat with a sigh, running both hands through his short hair, and despite himself remember Sam’s face through the screen, his body against Dean’s all night. He was so screwed. “Jesus, Charlie. What am I gonna do?”

To Dean’s surprise, she pushes up out of the booth and stands up, hands on her hips. “Well first thing we’re going to do is gank a ghost.” 

Dean laughs. “Damn straight.”

Dean holds the screen door for Charlie. “After you, ma’am.” She laughs, flicking him on the forehead as she passes by. “We gotta get you a hat.”

Dean holds up one finger and runs back into the bedroom. When he comes out, he is wearing the hat he bought went back in time to find The Colt. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now let’s go meet Kate and Sam and you can think of a good reason why Sam shouldn’t tell anyone you’re brothers.”

Aaaaannnd the mood is gone. Fuck, Dean thinks, and walks as slowly as he can towards the arena.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean is a flirt and Kate gives Sam some advice.

Sam knows Dean likes his coffee, but maybe he needs to cut back a bit. He’s pacing around Kate’s office like a caged tiger. There’s not a lot of space for it, and every time he crosses the room, he has to step over Sam’s outstretched legs. Sam can see it irritates him by the slight wrinkle of his nose every time he does it. He hides a smile behind his hand, wondering how many times he can get Dean to do it before he finally just kicks Sam’s legs out of the way.

There’s some other conversation going on around him but he can’t focus on it. He’s just kind of hypnotized by Dean’s circuit over his legs, cross to the door, behind Charlie, then back towards Sam, over his legs again, look out the window, repeat. All without meeting Sam’s eyes once. Besides, he knows how it’s going to shake out. Sam is going to go to the library with Kate’s library card, do some research on deaths, see if there is anything tied to the arena. Dean is going to interview people at the school, see if he can find something connecting the incidents beyond maybe, kinda, vague ‘drama’. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance we can talk to Carol’s girlfriend, is there?” Dean asks rhetorically, interrupting some story about the dead Carol and her girlfriend. 

Kate shakes her head. “She’s already gone. Along with two other students.” Kate sighs and leans back in her chair. 

“Is that going to be a problem?” Charlie asks. “I mean, money-wise?”

“No. I’m okay. For now. But rodeo folk …” Kate shakes her head. “They’re a superstitious lot. If I get a reputation for bad luck following the school …Well, it won’t be good.” 

Charlie pats her hand. “Don’t worry. The boys will take care of it. We’ll get to the bottom of. Fix it. Right, boys?” She fixes a hard gaze on them, hand curled around Kate’s.

Sam pushes up off the file cabinet he’s been using as a stool. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” he answers and, deciding he’s had enough of trying to provoke his brother, he reaches out and grabs Dean’s arm. “Dude. Stop pacing. You’re making me nuts.” He tugs Dean back towards him, sliding over so they can share the top of the cabinet. Dean perches on it with half his ass, an arm behind Sam for balance, and Sam feels better already.

Kate smiles at them when Sam pulls Dean down. His pacing was probably getting to her too. Charlie is giving Dean a pretty intent look that Sam can’t interpret. He knows Dean is making some kind of face back her. He can feel Dean’s long thigh muscle tighten against his. Sam shifts, trying to find a better balance on the cabinet. He uncrosses his arm and leans across Dean’s leg, resting his hand on the file cabinet’s edge, right between Dean’s legs. The expected joke about being too close to Dean’s junk doesn’t come, and he feels Dean’s chest press against his arm as Dean shifts a little. 

“So,” Charlie smacks her palms together and stands up. “Kate and Sam into town, and me and Dean casing the joint, talking to witnesses?”

Dean and Sam chuckle at the same time. Sam stands up, Dean right behind him. He elbows Dean in the shoulder, holding out his hands. “Keys.” Dean digs through his pockets, hands them over. “Fill her up while you’re out,” he commands. “And pick up some groceries. Coffee.”

“And pie?” Sam asks, as if he didn’t already know the answer. He’ll pick up a couple of six packs of that beer Dean liked and maybe some whiskey, too.

Dean just spreads his hands, refusing to answer such a stupid question. He turns to Charlie, “Okay, Nancy Drew, ready to do some digging?” He holds up a hand at her excited expression. “Subtle digging. People are dead.” 

Sam falls into his usual spot right behind Dean as they leave. He just feels better with Dean within touching distance. He assumes Dean feels the same given how often Dean’s arms or shoulders or thighs brush against his when they walk or sit. Dean pauses in the door way and Sam rests his hand in the small of his back. He can feel the tension in Dean’s muscles. Sam rubs gently at the tight muscles and he could swear Dean almost smacks his head on the door frame. He definitely hears Dean whisper “Charlie” between clenched teeth. Huh. He wonders what’s going on between those two.

A loud metal clang from the arena fifteen feet below grabs Sam’s attention. Dean reaches out and grabs Sam’s sleeve, pulling him to a stop. 

In the arena, several people sit on the rail next to the bull chute watching as a man in full-face helmet, padded chest protector, and chaps nervously straddles the back of a smallish-looking bull. Two men wait by the gate, one holding the pull rope, one up by the end of the bull. The older guy they’d met last night stands on the rails and leans over near the rider, giving him what Sam assumes is some last-minute advice. Probably something like ‘hold on tight’. 

Sam follows Dean’s eyes to the men and bulls below. “Cool.” Dean leans forward, straining to hear, one foot up on the lowest rail. Sam rests a hip against the railing, half sitting on it, one hand on Dean’s shoulder for balance.

Down below, the bull shifts restlessly, cowbell clanking low, as the well-padded man eases out over his back. The small crowd is quiet as Gunny nods. The rider wraps his rope around his gloved hand and shifts forward on the bull, sitting right over the rope. Metal clangs as the bull slams against the gate. One of the men on the ground grabs its tail to keep it from twisting around in the narrow chute. 

“Ready?” asks Gunny. The man on the bull nods. With a quick strong pull, the guy on the ground opens the gate and then gets the hell out of the way as the bull bursts from the chute, bucking and leaping. 

Cowbells clank dully and dust rises as the rider hangs on, one hand on the rope, one swinging wildly in the air. Sam automatically starts keeping time as the bull twists and kicks, the rider’s legs slapping against the animals’ side. Nine seconds later and the guy’s still on. Impressive. At eleven seconds the bull runs full speed into the wall, bucks so hard it almost flips over, and sends the rider flying off sideways. The thump echoes in the stands.

“Oooh,” Sam hisses in sympathy. “That had to hurt.”

“Softer than a headstone,” Dean points out. “And he has a helmet.”

“True.” Sam laughs as he steps off the rail. “I know you want to try it,” Sam says as they catch up with Kate and Charlie.

“Try what?” Charlie asks over Dean’s emphatic, “Damn right, I do.”

Sam points behind him. “Dean wants to learn to ride a bull.” 

Charlie looks over as another rider goes flying through the air and rolls away just in time to avoid getting sliced by the bull’s hooves. She frowns, the shrugs her shoulders. “Looks safer than ghost-busting.”

Dan smirks at Sam, pointing at Charlie. “That’s what I said.”

Kate pulls a small planner out of her pocket, and flips through it, running her tongue over her teeth as she thinks. “There’s another beginner class this afternoon. Want me to pencil you in?” 

“Hell, yes,” Dean smiles, holding a hand up for Charlie to high five. She does not disappoint. “Awesome.” 

Sam just shakes his head. Dean and Charlie are two of kind. He makes a mental note to never to let them go off together. Privately, he thinks Dean would be awesome at bull riding. Dean is usually good at anything physical. He’s always had such control of his body. Dean never went through an awkward gangly adolescent phase. Nope, just an easy slide from angelic little boy to painfully pretty teenager to the fair-skinned, hard-muscled gorgeous grown man he is now. No matter how much Sam builds his own body, he knows he’ll never give off that aura Dean projects without even trying. Like you can almost feel the muscles sliding under the skin, like watching a panther stalk. And Sam obviously needs more coffee or something because his brain just supplied him a picture of Dean in jeans and leather chaps and nothing else. Ooh-kay.

Sam drags his eyes back up from Dean’s thighs, noting the faded blue of Dean’s second favorite pair of jeans, the stress lines in his brown leather belt, and the way the grey t-shirt seems to cling to Dean’s chest in a way he doesn’t remember seeing before. When he finally drags his eyes over Dean’s mouth and through the freckles over his nose, he’s met with a look he’s not familiar with on Dean’s face. He looks concerned, that part’s not new, but his pupils are wide and dark, his eyes hooded and intense.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam pushes his bangs to the side and frowns slightly, eyes wide. “Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean still has that same look in his eye, and when Sam’s gaze flicks down without his permission, Dean’s got his thumbs hooked into his front pockets, fingers grazing lightly on the tops of his thighs. 

“I don’t know, Sammy,” he answers, cocking an eyebrow. “You went away there for a second.”

It does feel a little hot in here, Sam notices, and his mouth is kind of dry. Maybe it’s the altitude. How high are they anyway? “How high are we?” he asks, turning to Kate.

Dean’s laugh is low and warm. His hand is warm, too, when he gently grips Sam’s upper arm. “I think some of us are higher than others. No more beer for you above five-thousand feet.”

Kate ignores them and yells down to the floor. “Josh!” No answer. “Gunny!”

Down on the arena floor, Gunny looks up, squinting. When he catches sight of Kate, he climbs up the fence and pulls himself up onto the rail, standing on the wrong side of it like a kid. “You rang, ma’am?” he drawls. 

Despite himself, Sam is impressed. He’s kind of spry for an older guy. Judging from the mostly grey hair and lines on his face, Sam puts him at mid fifties, maybe older. Still good-looking and Sam is suddenly curious about what Dean will look like in twenty-five years. Probably still disgustingly good-looking.

Kate tilts her head towards Dean. “Got room for one more in the beginner class?”

Gunny looks over and gives Dean a slow up and down that immediately makes Sam think, ‘Oh yeah, gay rodeo.’

“I think I can manage to squeeze him in,” he says. 

Dean quirks one eyebrow and his mouth twitches with an almost-smile. 

Josh nods. “Dean, right? From the fire?”

Sam clears his throat and subtly nudges Dean in the side with his elbow. He’s not sure what message he’s trying to convey, but it feels like Dean should stop doing something Sam’s not even sure he is doing. 

The man, Josh, swings himself around to face Sam, gives the same long look. “I’m gonna need to find something big for you to ride,” he comments, innuendo so broad even Dean snorts a laugh. The guy flashes Dean a wicked smile, then turns back to Sam. “I didn’t meet you last night.”

“I’m Sam. Dean’s…’ He stops, remembering Charlie’s warning, and, really, it is none of this guy’s business who he is. “I’m with Dean,” he continues. 

Josh shakes his head with a grin. “Of course you are. So, are you wanting to learn, too?” This time his gaze feels more assessing to Sam, like he’s measuring him for a bull or something. 

Sam forces a smile and claps Dean hard on the back. “No, I leave the kamikaze stuff to Dean.” Both Dean and Charlie laugh incredulously at that. Dean is the closest though, so he’s the one Sam punches on the arm. “Jerk.”

“You know they have clowns at rodeos,” Dean comments deadpan.

Sam can’t quite stop the quick look of horror on his face. Damn, he had forgotten that. But Dean’s full-body laugh is worth any potential clown sighting. When Dean laughs like that, throwing his whole body back, eyes all crinkled up, smile so wide, well, Sam can’t help grinning back like a madman, even when the joke is at his expense. 

“Well,” Josh interrupts. “I guess I’ll see you this afternoon, Dean. Sam.” He jumps back down on the ground and walks back to the class. Dean watches as he goes. Sam tries not to glare at the back of Josh’s head. 

Kate clears her throat and jerks her head towards the door when Sam and Dean turn toward her. “Okay let’s get Sam into town. But I’m driving. I’ll drop you at the library and run some errands. Dean, I assume you don’t want me driving your car?”

Charlie and Sam laugh at the face Dean makes as he tries to find a polite way to say hell no. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Sam shrugs and tosses the keys back to Dean, who snatches them out of the air. 

Charlie darts over to Kate and gives her a quick but thorough kiss. “See you later,” she says, and joins Sam. 

Dean smacks Charlie on the shoulder. “You dog.” 

“Shut up. I like her.” Then she smacks him back on the back of the head. “And what the heck was that back there?”

“What was what?” Dean asks with faux lack of concern. He starts to walk away and she grabs him, spinning him to face here.

She waves her hands. “All the..all the…,” and she hooks her thumbs in her pockets and slouches back, eyes hooded in a (exaggerated Dean feels) parody of how Dean was standing before. “All that ‘how you doin’. At Sam.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I was not doing -“ Now it’s his turn to wave his hand up and down, indicating all of Charlie. “That.”

Charlie rolls her eyes and starts to walk away. “Whatever. Just, not brothers, okay?”

Dean nods, and if she hears his muttered ‘he started it’ she wisely decides to ignore it.

 

 

Sam sightsees as Kate drives them past a large university campus, through a pleasant little downtown area of tree-lined streets crowded with shops and restaurants and a surprising number of bars and coffee shops. The sky is blue and the trees and flowers lining the streets still green. There are more dogs, bicycles, and young people than Sam has seen in one place since Stanford. Kate notices him looking around. “Been here before?”

Sam shakes his head, making a mental note of restaurants and bars he thinks Dean would like. They don’t technically need to hustle pool anymore, but college towns are usually easy marks. Plus, he has to admit, he misses it. It’s kind of fun. Not that he would ever tell Dean that.

“Sam?”

“Hmm?” He turns back to Kate. “Sorry. Just scoping out the place.”

Kate stops the truck at a red light. “I was just asking if you’d been here before.”

Sam shakes his head. “No. My br- Dean has though. Beer and coffee and college girls. Right up his alley.”

The light turns green nut Kate doesn’t go right away. Sam turns to see her examining him, one arm hanging out the window and the other resting low on the bottom of the steering wheel, just like Dean when he’s relaxed. 

Sam realizes it’s going to be one of those days when everything relates back to Dean. He’s given up fighting it. Sometimes it seems like everything in his life has happened with Dean or because of Dean or in spite of Dean or just because it was something Dean wouldn’t do. When angels tell you that you were created as a pair, that the fate of the world lay in the bond between you, seems like you can be forgiven for possibly allowing your thoughts to revolve around that other person every now and then. 

The truck rolls forward and Sam realizes Kate is still glancing over at him. He frowns, a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He likes to fly under the radar as much as his size will let him. Dean’s the one who…yeah. Well.

 

Kate pulls into a spot in front of the library and shuts off the engine. It runs on a bit, rumbling to itself. The spots in front of the library are suspiciously empty and Kate checks her watch. “We’re a little early. It doesn’t open until ten. About fifteen minutes.”

The old stone library sits in the middle of a wide green lawn, sharing space with a history museum complete with replica Old West homes and schoolhouse. Sam makes a mental note that they might have some more information if the library doesn’t pan out. 

Sam picks his backpack up off the floor. “Not a problem. I’ll just hang out until it opens. What time do you want me to meet you to go back? And where?” He checks his pocket for the library card Kate had loaned him. “Oh, do you mind swinging by the grocery store on the way back? You don’t want to see Dean without coffee, trust me.”

Kate rubs her palms over the steering wheel, following the bumps up and back down, and doesn’t answer, just lets out an exhale that borders on being a sigh. 

“Kate?” Sam’s worried and a bit wary. This was turning into the kind of silence that happens right before some alleged victim reveals they know more than they are letting on about the situation. Where they admit they maybe just possibly might not be as innocent as they may have lead Dean and Sam to believe. Sam puts on his best sympathetic voice, debates using the gentle hand on the shoulder move, but decides against it. He’ll hold it in reserve. “Kate?” he asks again, voice low and soothing. “What is it? Is it something about the ghost?”

Kate starts at that, shooing him a started look. “You really think it’s a ghost? That quick?’

Sam shrugs. “It fits the pattern. There was definitely EMF activity – like ghost fingerprints – at the trailer.” He gestures to the library. “You said it hadn’t happened anywhere else, so assuming it’s tied to the arena is our best place to start.”

“Just when you think you’ve seen everything,” she mutters under her breath.

Sam forces a laugh, trying to lighten the tension that still fills the cab. “Hey, be grateful it’s just a ghost. Ghosts are easy. Dean and I have been dealing with them since we were kids.”

Kate turns towards Sam, braces her back against the driver’s side door. “Yeah, Charlie told me about you and your brother. And your dad.”

“Oh, then you know Dean’s my brother?” He turns to face Kate. “That’s so much easier.” Kate looks questioningly at him. He shrugs. “Charlie grabbed me this morning. Made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone we were brothers. I don’t know why. But it’s hard. I hadn’t realized how many times I said ‘my brother’ until I couldn’t say it anymore …” Sam’s voice trails off at the end. Somehow that hadn’t come out right. 

“Smart girl, that Charlie.” Kate looks at him like he’s a puzzle she can’t figure out. Sam’s not a big fan of that look. “You really don’t know why she said that?”

Sam frowns and shakes his head. 

“Well, it was good advice. Just do what she says. You might want to ask her about it again though.” A thin woman in a patchwork skirt walks up to the library doors and opens them. Kate starts up the truck engine. “Library’s open. How long do you need?”

“Couple of hours. Do you have my number?” Kate nods. “Just text me when you’re on your way back. You’re okay with stopping at the store?” She nods again. 

Sam hops out of the car, pauses with his hand on the top of the door frame, and leans down into the truck. “Do you know why Charlie doesn’t want anyone to know we’re brothers?”

Kate looks at him again, like she’s seeing something Sam can’t, and it’s really starting to piss him off. Some of that must show on his face because Kate holds out a placating hand. “Hey, all I have are theories. You need to talk to her. Or Dean.”

“Dean knows?” Sam’s not sure why that starts a little niggling fear in the pit of his stomach.

Kate deliberately puts the car into reverse, keeping her foot on the break. The jerk of the transmission lurching into gear jolts Sam and he steps away from the car, shutting the door. Before he walks away, Kate leans across the seat and calls out the window. “Sam. Hey, Sam!”

He turns back to her, raises an eyebrow. “Look, I like you guys a lot. Charlie likes you and that goes a long way in my book. I don’t know what Dean knows. I don’t know what you know. Personally, I think both of you have your heads up your asses.”

Sam opens his mouth to ask her what the hell she is talking about, but Kate stops him with a gesture. “Look. Just … just talk to her, okay? Do yourselves both a favor.” 

“I don’t –“

“Yeah, yeah. Just do research, use the auto check-out machine and my card should work fine. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, okay?” She backs out of the spot before Sam can answer. Okay, whatever. He has a ghost to find.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean makes a new friend, and Sam plays on the swings.

The late morning sun feels good on Dean’s back. He’s tied his flannel shirt around his waist so his arms can get in on the action. He’s leaning up against the wooden fence, one foot on the bottom rail, arms crossed on the top. Warm sun, blue sky, great breeze, the foothills in front of him, and Dean’s in no hurry to move. It’d be a perfect day if only some damn ghost hadn’t decided to graduate from poltergeist to vengeful spirit. Dean can appreciate ambition, to a point, but he’s still going to gank the ghost.

He’s pulled out of his aimless daydreaming by the pounding of hooves. With a cloud of dust, Charlie comes galloping by on some sort of very compact horse. She’s absolutely killing it out in the arena; horse getting so low around the barrels Dean thinks even Baby would envy the tight way she cuts those turns. She rounds the third barrel and pulls up short, her pony’s flanks heaving. 

“Yeah!” Dean calls. He steps up with both feet on the bottom rail and leans into the ring, waving his hat like a crazy man. “Charlie! Way to go. That was awesome!” Charlie beams at him from across the ring, stands up in her stirrups and gives a little bow. Going by the appreciative looks from a few of the women watching, Dean figures Charlie will have no trouble getting any of the women to chat with her after this. Speaking of, he might as well get started, too. Not having Charlie’s skill with a horse, he’s going to have to work the tenderfoot angle. 

He puts his hat on, waves goodbye to Charlie, and turns, putting his back against the fence. Resting his elbows on the top rail, he tilts his hat down, blocking the sun from his eyes. Handy things, these hats. Too bad they aren’t practical on a hunt. Dean can’t see himself, but he’s pretty sure he’s pulling it off. Idly contemplating getting some cowboy boots, he scans the grounds with a practiced eye, looking for huddled groups of people taking earnestly, or a lone suspect he can cull from the herd. Just like being at a bar, but with less beer and more horse crap.

He doesn’t have to look long. Gunny is making his way across the field, so Dean waits, watches as he walks up. Not like it’s hardship. Dean’s been known to appreciate the male form, and the guy really is striking looking, even if he is pushing sixty. Must have been a knock-out when he was younger. Not too tall, lean, and wearing a red t-shirt that sets off his light brown skin and dark jeans that made his legs look as long as Sammy’s even though he is shorter than Dean. The guy picks up on Dean’s appraisal, give a little chin nod. The crooked smile he gives Dean, and the way his walk gets just a bit looser, makes Dean laugh out loud. He knows that move. His smile doesn’t fade as he watches the older man close the distance between them.

“Howdy,” Gunny says, hand to his hat in the smallest of tilts. 

Dean guesses Gunny is close to his Dad’s age. And, like his Dad, his life shows in his face in all kinds of interesting ways. Dean doesn’t doubt he could tell some stories.

“Howdy,” Dean returns, straightening up off the fence. “I didn’t think anybody actually said that.” He pushes his hat back a bit to be polite.

“Oh, we do.” He reaches out for a handshake. “Gunny. And it’s Dean, right?” His voice holds the slightest bit of the drawl of a person who’d spent their life in the American west. Not a Texas twang or a Southern drawl, just a slowing down on the words, a stretching of the vowels.

“Yeah. Winchester.” Dean shakes his hand. The grip is as firm as he’d expected, palm as callused as Dean’s. “I assume Gunny’s not what your momma named you?”

“Was a Gunnery Sargent in the Marines. Just kind of stuck after I got out. That’s what I get for not making new friends. Name’s Josh. You can call me whatever you want.” There was the faintest of smiles behind that, the smallest emphasis on the you. 

Well, okay. Dean can’t help the quick up and down glance. Not that Dean’s looking for company right now, but he’s got some good memories of nights that started pretty much just like this. When his eyes meet Josh’s again, the man grins. Ooh, Dean was caught looking. Charlie is right. These guys don’t miss a beat. He mentally apologizes for ever doubting her.

A small group of men enters the ring behind them. No horses, just some ropes and a couple of bales of hay. “My father was a Marine,” Dean says, as Gunny moves up next to him on the fence. They both turn to watch what turns out to be a roping class. “Echo 2/1 in Vietnam. Right at the end.”

Gunny nods. “Good group. I was there a little earlier. Stayed in for a while after, too. Until they kicked me out. Conduct unbecoming,” he says off Dean’s questioning look. 

Dean nods. “Tough deal.”

Gunny shrugs it off and turn to lean sideways against the fence. “It worked out okay. Hooked up with the rodeo crowd out in Reno. I got by.” 

“How long have you been working with Kate?” Dean asks, leaning forward on his forearms to see if he can’t pick up how to throw a lasso. How much would Sam love that? Dean’s getting to be a big fan of the fence leaning. He knows why people are always doing it in the movies. 

“Bout seven years,” Gunny answers. He nudges Dean’s arm and points to where the instructor is lazily swinging the lasso in huge circles back and forth. It’s mesmerizing.

“So,” Gunny jerks his chin at Dean. “What brings you here? Kate says you and?” He pauses waiting for Dean to supply some information about Sam. The ‘my brother’ is on the tip of Dean’s tongue but he swallows it. “Sam,” he answers gruffly. 

Gunny waits but nothing more is forthcoming. He raises one eyebrow in an expression Dean’s not too sure he likes, and continues. “Kat says you and Sam are some kind of private investigators.”

Dean nods, not sure how much Josh knows, and not really feeling like getting into the whole supernatural thing right now. If ever. “Yeah, we’re friends of Charlie’s. Doing her a favor.”

Josh shakes his head, lifts his hat off and runs his hand through his hair before putting it back on. “So, you really…” he spread his hands in gesture of bewilderment Dean is far too used to. It means Josh knows at least a little of what’s going on. Good, in one way. Saves time. Bad in that you never know how civilians are going to react to learning that there actually are things to be afraid of in the dark.

Dean just nods. “Yep.”

“Ghosts? Really?” Josh turns fully towards him, searching Dean’s face for even a hint that Dean is joking.

Dean’s not joking. “Yep.”

Josh shakes his head again. The silence stretches, but there’s no tension in. Dean can feel Josh’s eyes on him again, but it’s an assessing look, more seriousness behind it than earlier. He’s surprised to feel a little pang at that. It’s been a long time since he noticed anyone looking at him like they liked what they saw. It was nice to feel that little spark, that I see you looking at me and I don’t mind at all connection. 

“I bet you’ve got some stories,” Josh remarks.

An incredulous laugh pushes past Dean’s lips before he can stop it. “You don’t know the half of it.” Dean stares out across the field, seeing nothing, as the barrier in his brain slips a bit and he can feel everything pressing against his skull, clamoring for attention. Cas, Kevin, fucking Crowley, heaven and hell, and Benny. God, he misses Benny right now. He could talk to Benny about Sam, he realizes. Benny might like the cowboys, too.

“Dean. Dean?” The shaking of the rail jolts him back to the present and he realizes Josh has been trying to get his attention. Didn’t try to touch him though. Smart man. 

Dean shakes his head to clear away the last of the shit he cannot do anything about right now. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, man.” He turns towards the other man, rubs a hand across his chin. “Just…lot of stuff going on now.”

Gunny nods, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “I know,” he just says. And he probably does. Seen it before. Dean knows what he must have looked like. He’d seen it in his dad and most of the scarred hunters and war veterans dad had dragged them to. It’s like a part of you stays with every trauma, every death, and it leaves you a little emptier. Sometimes he can’t believe he’s still not in hell. He knows it must be worse for Sam. It’s just one of a long list of things they don’t talk about when they meet in the kitchen at 3am, both reaching for the coffee maker.

“I could use a cup of coffee, how ‘bout you?” Josh says, as if he’s reading Dean’s mind. “And you can tell me all about this ghost.”

It’s a short walk to where Josh’s pickup is parked. He’s got a dirty aluminum camper shell on the back of it. Two collapsible lawn chairs flank the flimsy door and insubstantial steps. Josh motions to one. “Have a seat. Not a lot of room in there for two.” He disappears into the camper and comes out a minute later with two mugs.

The coffee is black and strong and it feels good going down. It’s cooler in the shade of the camper and Dean stands up to put his flannel shirt back on. He tries to subtly adjust his jeans and reseat his gun, but from the way Josh’s eyes flicker down to Dean’s waist and up again, he isn’t as smooth as he’d like to think he is. “Got a permit for that?” Josh asks him over the edge of his coffee cup.

“I’ve got several,” Dean admits.

Gunny laughs and his smile takes about ten years off his face. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, and Dean bets he doesn’t miss much. “I don’t know if that is supposed to make me feel better or worse,” he says. “Just be careful.”

Dean settles back down in the chair. “Don’t worry. I’ve been shooting since I was six. It doesn’t go off unless I want it to.”

“So no reckless discharges in the heat of the moment?” 

Dean barely holds back snorting hot coffee out his nose. When he looks at Josh, the man’s face is a study in innocence. “No,” Dean answers. “All my discharges are well-controlled, thank you.”

Josh’s coffee cup doesn’t quite cover the smirk. “I’ll bet,” he smiles into the coffee.

And Dean can’t help laughing like he hasn’t in a long time. It’s ridiculous. All the shit going on in his life and he’s sitting on a lawn chair trading innuendo with a really good-looking cowboy twenty-five years his senior.

Gunny just watches him with a smile, letting him get it all out of his system. Dean can tell he likes what he sees. He’s probably not going to take him up on it, but it’s still flattering. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he gets back to business. “So what do you know about what’s going on? What can you tell me about all the victims?”

Gunny thinks, staring at nothing for a minute. “Nothing stands out. They were just …normal. That first incident, with Marge, I assumed it was just domestic thing. An angry girlfriend.”

Dean nods. “So Marge and her girlfriend having trouble? Kate said something about drama.”

Josh makes the same ‘eh’ hand motion Kate had. “Not trouble, really. Marge had been hanging around this other woman a bit, but her girlfriend didn’t actually seem that upset about it that I’d noticed. Kate neither.”

“And the second guy? With the CDs?”

“Same thing. Rumored relationship trouble.”

Dean puts the empty coffee cup on the ground. “It’s like a soap opera around here.”

Gunny laughs. He motions at Dean’s cup. “More?” Dean shakes his head. Gunny pushes his hat back, stretches out in his rickety chair. “You gotta understand. Sure there’s a lot of people in the gay rodeo circuit, but it’s also kind of small world. A lot of us have known each other for years. Gossip happens. Some old queen gets bent out of shape. Some rodeo princess gets passed over at a show. People talk.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I know how that goes.” This ghost situation seems pretty straight-forward to him. A broken-hearted lover. Getting revenge on a cheating partner. One of the oldest motivations. Love and money make the afterlife go round. He hopes Sam comes back with some kind of lead on who it might be. And where they’re buried. “So nothing like this has happened before with you and Kate?”

Gunny shakes his head. “Not that I noticed. Definitely nothing has blown up before. That was…that was bad. Poor girl.” He looks over at Dean. “Do you think something like that will happen again?”

Dean wishes he could say no, but in his experience, once a ghost starts killing, they don’t stop until something stops them. Death gives them the power they lacked in life and they’ll fight to keep it. “I hope not,” he answers. 

The plastic webbing of the chair gives as Dean pushes himself up. Gunny stands up with him. “When Sam gets back, we’ll see what he found, see if anything pops up.” Dean’s tempted to go into town and meet up with him. The love triangle connection seems pretty clear. Maybe they’ll get some lunch, talk about the case. The opening chords of “Dude Looks Like a Lady” blare from Dean’s phone. “Speak of the devil,” he says, answering it. “Yo, Sammy. Whatcha got for me?”

 

Back at the library playground, Sam smiles into the phone. “Not much,” he answers. The swing he is sitting on twists slowly back and forth as Sam digs his heel into the sand. Yeah, he’s kind of tall for the swings, but it is a gorgeous day, and the playground behind the library is empty, and…And, ok fine, he just really likes swings. “Nothing really jumped out. No local legends about the place. No unexplained deaths attached to it. Well, an elephant died there a couple years ago, but I don’t think she’s our ghost.”

 _“Ghost elephant? That would be cool.”_ He can hear the wind blowing across Dean’s cell phone.

He pushes both feet against the ground, trying to swing a little. It’s hard with his long legs. “You’re gonna get sunburn,” he warns Dean, already imaging the pink cheekbones and extra freckles that would be popping out. “The sun’s stronger up here.”

 _“What are you talking about?”_

Sam puts one foot on the ground and slowly twists the chains of the swing together. “You’ve probably been outside all morning, talking to people. Right?”

_“Yeah. Well, person.”_

“You’re going to get sunburn on your face, and then I’m going to have to watch you poke at your face all night and wrinkle up your forehead to check if it still hurts.” The twist of the chain has reached Sam’s chest now. He holds the tension there.

 _“Hey, don’t mock me for my delicate complexion. Anyway, I’ll have you know I’m wearing a hat. And it looks damn good on me.”_

Sam remembers Dean in a cowboy hat when they went back to get the Colt. How excited he had been to get to dress up. Sam laughs and lifts his foot. “I bet it does.” The swing untwists, spinning him around, twist back up the other direction, then slowly settles to a stop. 

_“Are you on a swing?”_ he hears Dean ask incredulously. 

“Maybe.” 

_“Sam’s playing at the playground,”_ he hears Dean say to someone else. _“We’re here, slaving over a hot ghost and he’s on the swings.”_ He hears a male voice in the background but can’t make out who it is. _“Don’t go spinning around and making yourself sick,”_ Dean says back into the phone.

Sam rolls his eyes. “That was one time, Dean.”

_“And don’t roll your eyes at me.”_

Sam laughs. “So who are you talking to?”

_“You remember Gunny?”_

_Yeah_ , Sam remembers him. “The old Romeo that climbed the fence to- “ _to eye-fuck you_ is what Sam wants to say, but he searches for a less crude way to put it. “To hit on you with cheesy lines?” 

_“Jealous, Sammy?”_ Dean’s voice has dropped even lower than normal and the words and the tone make something twist in Sam’s stomach. He exhales heavily into the phone. _“Sam?”_ Dean asks, _“You okay?”_

“Yeah. Yeah. Just…” Just that Dean didn’t deny the guy was hitting on him. Didn’t laugh. “Just remember, it’s a gay rodeo school.” Shit, that didn’t come out right. He twists the swing around the other direction. 

_“I didn’t peg you for a homophobe, Sam.”_ Dean’s voice is quiet, like doesn’t want to be overheard. He sounds odd, voice tight.

Sam shakes his head even though Dean can’t see him. “Dean. You know I’m not. I just, you know. He probably assumes you’re gay, too. Because we’re there, and we’re friends of Charlie’s.”

 _“So you want me to let him down easy?”_ There’s an edge to Dean’s laugh, but at least it’s a laugh. _“I don’t know, Sam. He is kinda nice-looking. Don’t you think?”_

Sam can’t help but flash on Gunny climbing up the rails and smiling, and the look in his dark eyes as he checked them out. And the way he looked at Dean, and he’s irrationally irritated again. “He’s old,” he snaps out.

 _“He’s not that old,”_ Dean says. 

Gunny say something Sam can’t make out, but he sounds amused, and Sam has the urge to get back the arena as soon as he can. “Well, anyway, why are you hanging out with him? I thought you were supposed to questioning witnesses.”

 _“Yeah. I was. Josh and I we were talking about the vics, and I think we’re looking at a good-old love triangle. All of them were, ah, bunking in the wrong trailer.”_

Sam hears Gunny, no Josh, say something again. 

Dean rumbles an answer, _“Okay, fine.”_ He speaks into the phone again. _“Not necessarily cheating but it could have looked like they were. Ghost is probably some Victoria virgin wronged by the love of her life or something like that. See if you can find anything that fits that pattern.”_

Sam groans and stands up off the swing. “It’s your sensitive side that gets all the women, isn’t it?” He runs his hand through his hair as he strides back to the library. “Jesus, Dean. Obits don’t generally say ‘died of a broken heart’. You’re asking a lot.”

_“If anyone can do it, you can, Sammy. You’re like a wizard with the research.”_

“Flattery will get you…” Sam checks his watch, “one more hour of research. Then Kate’s picking me up. We’re gonna swing by the store, grab some stuff, and then pick up lunch. Anything you want?” 

He pauses by the doors of the library, wanting to finish the conversation before going in. He can picture Dean staring up at the sky, smacking his lips like he’s imagining eating something. It’s something he’s done since he was kid when he’s trying to figure out what he wants to eat. 

_“Tacos. La Luz.”_ That’s Gunny’s voice, and Sam is wondering how close he must be standing to Dean for Sam to hear his voice so clearly. 

_“Oh, yeah. Tacos sound good,”_ Dean agrees. 

Gunny’s voice again. _“Black beans.”_

Sam is hit with the irrational urge to tell the guy to get his own freaking tacos.

 _“Got that? Black beans, not pinto.”_ Dean orders.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” 

_“And deodorant!”_ Sam hears Dean yell as he starts to hang up. He doesn’t answer, just disconnects the call.

 

Dean looks at the phone and makes a face when Sam hangs up without so much as a goodbye. What crawled up Sam’s ass all of a sudden? Probably some kid kicked him off his swing. Dean snickers to himself, but when Josh looks at him, eyebrows raised, he just shakes his head. “It’s nothing. So. What now? We got lunch coming in about an hour and a half.” 

Josh looks at his watch, tilts his head up at Dean, and exhales. “I don’t know about you, but I have to supervise the team roping practice. You busy? Want to watch?” His expression is neutral, eyes squinting in the bright Colorado sunlight, but he manages to somehow project a little more into Dean’s personal space without actually moving. Dean shifts in response, moving his weight a little more forward. Without conscious thought, Dean’s gaze flicks down Josh’s body again, from the sharp cheekbones, down his chest, flat stomach and strong thighs in faded blue jeans, back up to the warm brown eyes. Dean mouth is quirked in a half-smile that echoes the one on Josh’s face. The phone still clenched in his hand beeps with an incoming text. Dean thumbs at the screen to display the text before looking away. Sam. Who else?

_Can you give me some sort of a date range? From the dawn of time to now is kind of broad._

He can picture Sam’s bitchface through the text and he does feel bad. They really do need a little more to go on. _Let me see what I can find_ , he texts back. _And Old Spice deodorant. None of that Suave crap you cheap bastard._ “Sam,” he explains to Josh as he looks back up and pockets the phone.

“Of course it is.” Josh has stepped back, the moment between them gone. 

Dean looks across the field, not sure how to end the conversation but feeling like it needs to be ended. He sees Charlie’s bright hair as she ducks into Kate’s trailer. “I should go talk to Charlie. She if she’s found anything useful,” he says apologetically, not really sure what he’s apologizing for.

Josh makes a sweeping after you gesture with his arm and they step gingerly around the chair and between the parked trucks.

“So, Sam is?” Josh asks after a half a minute of silence.

Dean hesitates. “I’ve known Sam all my life,” he answers honestly.

“And?”

“And what?” He stops.

Josh looks at him like he can’t believe Dean is being so dense. “And are you guys together?” he asks deliberately.

Dean snorts. Jesus, how do you even answer that? The obvious answer is no, but with this fucking awareness of Sam he has now, thanks to Charlie, no doesn’t seem to quite cover it. “It’s complicated,” he answers, rolling his eyes as how stupid that sounds.

Now it’s Josh’s turn to laugh. “When isn’t it?” He touches Dean lightly on the arm. “At least I’ll have you at my mercy this afternoon.”

Dean’s eyes widen and Josh grins wickedly. “Didn’t you say you want to learn how to ride a bull?” He laughs at Dean’s quick bright smile. 

“Do you think I could? Cause that would be awesome.” 

“We’ll start slow, cowboy. You and I have a date with the drop barrel.”

“What’s that?” Dean’s eyes narrow suspiciously, not quite sure he isn’t being made fun of.

There’s nothing quick or subtle about the hot glance Josh drags down and back up Dean’s body this time. “Something those bow legs of yours are going to look mighty nice wrapped around. I might have to charge admission.” 

Dean’s dick twitches just a bit at the blatant attention and he curses mentally. But Dean Winchester is not one to be flustered by any kind of proposition, gay or straight. He’s been getting them since he was fourteen. He just raises one eyebrow and hooks his thumbs into his belt loops. “Mr. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me.”

Josh laughs, low and pleased. He smiles. “See you for lunch, Dean. Your trailer.”

Dean nods, and watches, hand rubbing over his jaw as Gunny walks away. “Fuck.” He goes off to find Charlie. See if she has answers. For anything. Seriously. What the fuck?

 

It’s close to one in the afternoon when Kate’s truck bumps over the ruts in the parking lot as she pulls up behind her fifth-wheel trailer. The transmission settles with a thunk as she puts it into park. “You might want to get that looked at,” Sam comments.

“Tell me about it,” she says, gathering up the plastic bags holding their lunch before opening the door. 

Sam jumps out his side, pulling the seat forward to get at the grocery bags stuffed behind the seat. The doors make a satisfying metal thud as they close. 

Kate nods at him over the hood. “Want to eat at my trailer? I’ve got a table set up outside and it’s nice out today.”

Sam nods as he loops the bags over his hands. “Yeah, just let me drop these by us and I’ll grab Dean and meet you back here.”

Kate reaches in the window and grabs her hat, puts it on her head. She’s wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and Sam is surprised by the definition in the muscles of her arm. Kate smiles when she notices where he’s looking. She clenches her fist and strikes an exaggerated body builder pose. “Rodeoing ain’t for the weak.”

“Apparently not,” Sam laughs. He likes Kate. Maybe they’d see more of her. He lifts the grocery bags and crosses in front of the truck. 

“Hey,” Kate calls out. “If you see Gunny, let him know I have his lunch, too.”

Sam can’t help it, his mouth twists up at the thought of Dean hanging around with Gunny. The worst thing is, he doesn’t even know why it bothers him. He’d only seen the guy once and they’d barely spoke. It just plays on his nerves. There’s something about him. Sam takes a deep breath of the clear mountain air to clear his thoughts. Whatever it is, he’ll get over it. He just hopes Dean had better luck narrowing down their broken-hearted ghost than he did.

He can hear Dean’s voice coming from the trailer as he hits the first step. The whole trailer sways on its shocks with his weight as he ducks through the door. “Hey, I got some groceries,” he calls, dropping the bags down on the table. 

“Awesome,” Dean replies, coming out of the small bedroom. 

Sam stops dead just inside the trailer. Oh, look who was with him. Gunny. _Awesome_ , Sam echoes mentally.

No one speaks as Sam gives the barest of nods and Gunny returns it with a smirk. 

Dean just shakes his head and pushes past both of them, arm sliding across Sam’s chest as he does. There’s not a lot of room to get out of the way. He feels warm from the high desert sun and Sam can see his cheeks are starting to get pink despite the cowboy hat he’s wearing. 

Speaking of hats, Josh is wearing one and holding another. The other one looks to be black leather with a gold feathered band. Now that he’s done smirking at Sam, he actually looks the slightest bit worried, and he’s holding the hat by the brim and sliding it through his hands. “Nice hat,” Sam offers for lack of anything else to say. He wants to ask what they were doing in the bedroom but he can’t seem to find a way to make that sound not weird.

Josh sighs, “I was hoping it was yours. It’s not?”

Sam shakes his head. “Dean’s the one with the cowboy fetish, not me.”

Dean smacks the back of Sam’s head without interrupting his pillaging of the grocery bags. “It’s not a fetish, bitch. It’s an appreciation. ”

Sam laughs at him. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the night, baby.”

Dean holds up one of the six pack of local beer and gives Sam an approving nod before sliding the bottles into the small fridge.

Josh’s brown is creased and he’s frowning. “So it’s not yours?”

Sam shakes his head and looks down at to Dean. Dean shrugs. “Don’t look at me. It was on the bed when we came in. Apparently it’s a bad luck in the rodeo world to put a hat on the bed.”

Sam looks back and forth between Josh and Dean. “So someone came in to the trailer and put a cowboy hat on the bed to, what? Freak us out? Warn us?”

Dean turns to Sam, clutching the Old Spice deodorant in his hands. He looks from the hat to Sam, a crease appearing between his eyes as he considers the possibilities. “You don’t think?”

Sam frowns, shrugs. “Maybe. Stranger things.” Gunny is looking back and forth between them, but Sam doesn’t feel the need to explain anything to this civilian. Who was in their bedroom. With Dean.

“Okay,” Dean tosses the deodorant to Sam who snatches it out of the air. Dean straightens up, leans right into Sam’s space and reaches around him to open the small cabinet above the tiny sink. “No, don’t get out of the way, Sasquatch. I’m fine.”

Sam steadies Dean with one hand on his hip as he stretches up to dig though the cabinet. “You could have asked me to get it if the shelf is too high up for you. You want a stool?”

“Screw you,” Dean answers without heat. He sighs and drops back down, EMF meter in hand. “I got it.” 

They’re chest to chest and Sam’s hand is still on Dean’s hip. He has to look down to meet Dean’s smiling eyes. They’re so green today, and with the new spray of freckles and the sunburned cheeks, Dean looks like he did when he was eighteen and Sam couldn’t’ seem to look away from his gorgeous big brother.

As Dean turns around, Sam’s hand drags across Dean’s stomach, fingertips slipping under Dean’s t-shirt. Dean’s hipbones slots into the palm of Sam’s hand and Sam squeezes involuntarily as he looks over Dean’s shoulder to see the EMF meter light up like a Christmas tree.

Dean twists his head to look up at Sam. “Son of a bitch.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlie is Dean's spirit guide into the world of the gays and Sam contemplates the lack of goats in his life.

Josh leaves to round up the girls while Sam goes to get the stuff for a salt and burn from the car. 

“Find a safe place to burn it,” Dean says to Sam’s departing back. “I’ll be right there,” he promises. “I just got to hit the head.”

Dean shuts the door and leans against the counter with a deep sigh. The places where Sam’s fingers slid across his skin still tingle. Dean’s not sure how much of this he can take without something happening. And he’s not sure what something would look like. 

He cups his hand around his hip bone, remember the jolt when Sam’s large hand just curved around it like it had been carved to fit him. When his fingers slip down under the waistband of his jeans, they brush the tip of his hard cock. Dean shudders at the slickness there. _Son of a bitch_. He’d been half a second away from just turning in the circle of Sam’s arms, pressing him into the counter, and rutting against him until the trailer was rocking and they both came in their pants.

He shoves his hand further down his jeans. The pressure against his dick and the thought of how Sam would feel plastered hard against him, no room for regrets between them, punches all the air out of his lungs. _Fuck_. He can’t do this. He can’t fuck his baby brother, shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

He pops the button on his jeans, and the zipper slides down by itself from the press of his erection. Before he can second-guess himself, he pulls the waistband of his boxers up and over the tip, hissing through his teeth as the air blows across the wetness there.

God, he’s so hard just from Sam’s touch. And the fucking way Sam had been looking at him earlier. Like he was imaging Dean naked. Between Sam’s unconscious flirting and his constant need to be touching Dean, and Josh’s much more deliberate invitations, Dean had been at least half hard all morning.

He stumbles into the small plastic bathroom stall, kicking the door shut behind him. Standing over the toilet, he leans one hand against the wall. The first stroke of his hand, tight from top to bottom, feels like heaven. “Shit,” he grunts out, thrusting quickly into the circle of his fist. There’s no time for finesse or the slow teasing build he loves. This has to be quick. It’s wrong and twisted but it’s the thoughts of Sam that are going to push him over the edge right now.

He swipes his palm across the head, gathering the moisture there, picturing how much of his dick Sam could fit in one hand. He strokes fast and punishing, imaging Sam’s hands on his ass, pulling him closer, and the feel of Sam’s huge, hard cock sliding against his.

He’s panting now, head resting on his outstretched arm. Fuck. It feels good. He’s so wet his dick slides through his hand easily and Dean tightens his grip even more. He moans as he jerks hard at fast, running his palm over the tip, sliding his hand down to pull at his balls.

His mouth aches for some contact and he opens it on his shirt. The soft flannel sticks to his lips and he imagines it’s Sam’s shirt under him. In his mind, he drags his mouth up the length of Sam’s neck, tongue flat on the stubble. He would bite at Sam’s beautiful pink mouth until he opened up and let Dean in.

Dean’s legs are trembling, sweat pricking the back of his neck. God, he’s so close. He can feel everything ratcheting tighter and tighter as imagines the sounds Sam would make with Dean’s hand on his cock. The way Dean would swallow them up. He pictures Sammy pulling away and sliding gracefully to his knees. Brushing the hair out of his eyes and looking up at Dean through his long eyelashes as he opened his mouth to take Dean in.

Dean comes long and hard with a low moan and the picture of Sam’s lips wrapped around his cock burned into his mind.

As the aftershocks of pleasure are replaced with shame, Dean puts himself together and throws some water on his face. He doesn’t care what Charlie says about this thing between them being okay. It’s got to stop, and since Sam hasn’t even realized it’s started, it’s up to Dean to put the brakes on without upsetting Sam.

Dean scrubs his face dry with a sigh. Grabbing a couple of beers, he goes to find Sam.

 

Kate’s found a picnic table and grill out behind the arena that should give them a bit of privacy for ghost-hat burning.

Lunch is kind of awkward. For Dean anyway. It not just that they’re watching a haunted cowboy hat burn up in barbeque. It’s Dean’s lingering guilt for jerking off to thoughts of Sam. It’s Sam’s jealousy and the fact that the only one not amused by it is Dean. Sam doesn’t even realize he’s jealous, of course. Doesn’t stop him from sitting so close to Dean their thighs touch. Sam stops short of actually glaring at Josh, but Dean knows Sam’s fake smile when he sees it. Something’s gotta give here. And Dean’s a little afraid of what that’s going to look like. Sam’s not dumb and not as willing to play the repress and deny game as Dean is. Soon enough he’s going to twig onto what’s going on between them.

There’s nothing Dean can do right now. And it might have been tainted with guilt, but he did just have a pretty serious orgasm, and he’s working on beer number two. He’s feeling all right, all things considered. They have a ghost to kill and food to eat. Sam’s fish tacos are looking pretty good. Not that Dean’s chimichanga isn’t, but you gotta mix it up every now and then. Dean stabs his fork at Sam’s environmentally-sensitive recycled paper tray only to have a coughing fit as smoke from the burning hat blows into his face. 

“Karma,” Sam says, twisting his giant shoulders around so Dean can’t reach his food. “Eat your own lunch.”

Dean coughs a final time and takes a swig of the pink-grapefruit Izzy Sam had got him. That’s one thing he remembers about this town. Everything is fancy - chili beer, goat cheese, elephant poop coffee. Three days here and he’ll be dreaming about diners and Pabst.

“I always forget how awful burning leather smells,” Sam comments. Dean nods and opens his mouth for the bite of fish taco Sam is offering. 

“Good,” he says, surprised.

“Right?” Sam answers.

The wind whisks some embers up in a fiery stream. Caught by the red lights, Dean watches them spin up and float back down to the bare patch of dirt where Josh stands, staring into the fire with an expression Dean can’t begin to decipher. He nudges Sam with his knee, tilts his head subtly in Josh’s direction for Sam to see. 

The immediate flash of annoyance on Sam’s faces quickly morphs into a guarded worry as he watches Gunny staring into the fire, deep in thought. When he turns to Dean, one eyebrow slightly raised, he knows Sam’s thoughts are mirroring his. They’ve seen that look before. Usually when they pull out some prized but forgotten object, or mention a name that hasn’t been uttered in the family for decades. It’s the look of someone being forced to confront something they’d rather stay long buried. It’s never good when someone involved in a case looks like that. Especially someone you were really hoping was the good guy.

Damn it. Dean’s going to have to talk some more with Gunny. And not the fun flirting kind of talk. Not the brothers-in-arms bonding. He’s going to have to do some prying into things the man would rather not talk about, Dean is sure. No better way to kill a fledging friendship than to start yanking skeletons out of closest and salting and burning them. He sighs almost silently, and Sam pats his shoulder consolingly. Sam knows. 

They sit side by side in silence, watching the fire until it burns down completely, making sure there is nothing but ashes left of the hat. 

“Is that it?” Charlie asks from inside the circle of Kate’s arm.

Kate’s tall enough that she can look over Charlie’s head and make eye contact with Dean and Sam. “D’you think that took care of our ghost problem?”

Dean and Sam exchange a quick glance. Dean sees the same doubt in Sam’s eyes that he feels. “Probably not,” Dean admits. “We never get that lucky.”

“A spirit can use an object to hold a part of themselves, to kind of extend their reach, but it’s rarely the source of the spirit.” Sam elaborates. “So we still need to find who it is and...take care of it.”

“No leads?” Kate asks. 

Sam and Dean shake their heads at the same time. “We’re pretty sure we’re looking at a jealousy thing, though. Spurned lover, cheated on spouse kind of thing,” Dean answers.

Sam is looking at him with one eyebrow raised and a small smile, like he’s amused at some private joke. “Spurned lover? Watching Dr. Sexy again?”

“Shut up.” He elbows Sam in the ribs. “I saw you watching the other day.”

“I was just trying figure out how they would explain an extinct Siberian parasite showing up in twenty-first century Seattle.” Now he’s dimple-showing amused and Dean’s smiling back up at him like a loon.

“Whatever. Loser.”

Kate holds up a hand, forestalling Sam’s no-doubt blistering comeback. “I think you guys need to do some rodeo-schooling. Otherwise, people are going to start wondering why you’re here. They’re going to start asking questions about things I’d really not get into.”

“Well, Dean’s got the bull-riding thing, right? I have to see that.” Sam waggles his eyebrows at Dean.

Kate nods. “That’s good. I think that’s at three.” She calls over to Gunny, still standing away from the small group. “Hey, Josh. Beginning bulls at three, right?”

He nods and seems to collect himself. With one last look at the smoldering fire, he walks over, claps Dean on the shoulder. “Yep. Hope you’re ready to be black and blue.”

Dean sees Sam roll his eyes. “I think I can handle it.”

Josh lets the obvious joke pass unsaid, for which Dean is grateful. He doesn’t want a return of Sam’s bitchface.

“What about Sam?” Charlie asks. She still hasn’t moved from Kate’s embrace. Dean realizes how alone Charlie has been lately. He really hopes she and Kate keep in touch this time.

Sam is shaking his head already. “I’m not good with the horse stuff.”

Dean laughs, remember Sam bouncing away on that poor little horse. 

Kate smiles a wicked smile. “Well, you could always start easy, with goat dressing.” She oofs out a laugh when Charlie elbows her in the stomach. Even Gunny is smiling. 

Dean joins Sam in looking confused. Charlie takes pity on them. “It’s a race, putting panties on a goat. Doesn’t really take a lot of practice.”

Sam just blinks as Dean cracks up, hands on his knees. “You’re just making that up,” he accuses, shoving Dean off balance.

Kate’s biting her lip in an effort not to smile as she shakes her head. “Nope. Time honored tradition.”

“But, but,” he looks at Dean for support that is obviously not forthcoming. “I’ve never even seen a goat in real life. Like maybe in the distance. Somewhere. Right? Like at a school trip or something?” He looks desperately back at Dean, the repository of most of Sam’s childhood memories. “Did I ever see a real goat?”

Dean’s laugh fades down to chuckles as he searches his brain for any memory of Sammy and a goat. Comes up blank. He shrugs and frowns at Sam. “Not that I can remember. You were supposed to go to that petting zoo, in Allentown, with the haunted mine, remember?”

Sam nods. He remembers. That ghost had put Dad in the hospital for longer than Dad would have liked and they were both shipped off to Bobby’s before the trip could happen.

Josh looks between the two Winchesters. “Man, you weren’t kidding. You really have known each other all your lives.”

Dean waits for Sam to say something, anything, and blow their cover, but he just looks at Dean, brows a straight line over his dark eye. “Yep,” is all he says.

Kate is flipping through the schedule book she has jammed in her back pocket, Charlie looking over her arm. “Ooh, how about that one?” She points at the page. Kate nods.

“How about roping?” She looks up at Sam. “How’s your hand-eye coordination?”

Sam and Dean trade gleeful smiles. Charlie just rolls her eyes.

Kate looks back and forth between the three of them. “I’m not gonna ask. Just be at the front pen at 2:00. Look for Pam. Do you have gloves?’

Sam looks at Dean. Dean runs through a quick trunk inventory in his head, then nods. 

“Yeah,” Sam answers.

Kate snaps the books shut. “Great.”

Sam looks at his watch. “There’s not really any time for me to go back to the library. I was hoping to do some more research, try to find something, anything.”

“Don’t worry, I got a better idea,” Kate offers.

“Better than the library?” Sam looks confused and a little hurt, like someone just took his ice cream cone, and Dean just wants to pinch his cheeks or something. Sometimes the whole Samminess of Sam just hits him and he’s just struck again by how much of his world is packed inside of this one person. He settles on hip checking Sam and smirking. His usual m.o. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it geek boy?” 

Sam ignores him. Best strategy really.

Kate ignores the both of them. “It’s Thursday. We’re going to Shotz.”

Charlie bounces on her toes and claps her hands.

“I thought you’d like that,” Kate says. “It’s karaoke night, can’t keep the gays away.” 

Dean groans, but Charlie bounces and claps even more. “Yay!” Her eyes are shining and now she looks like a teenager. Dean can’t blame Kate for pulling her in for a long kiss. Charlie looks adorable. Kate’s got a hand in Charlie’s hair, tilting her head back. Dean has a brief moment of wondering what it would be like to be the shorter person in a make out session.

Josh comes up next to Dean and Sam. “It’s got a pool table, too. And cheap drinks.”

“Thank god,” Dean says. Behind Josh, Sam mimes bouncing and clapping, mouth open in an exaggerated, silent yay. He looks like he’s sixteen again, if sixteen year old Sam had ever been, you know, happy. 

Sam clears his throat as Kate and Charlie’s kiss moves perilously close to a PG-13 rating.

The ladies break apart, but Kate keeps Charlie’s hand clenched in hers. She can’t stop smiling, and Charlie’s cheeks looked pretty flushed to Dean. Hard to tell with the way she’s staring at the ground. 

“Yeah, well, anyway,” Kate explains. “It anybody knows any gossip from the gay community it’s gonna be Momma Deb. She’s been here forever. It’s a good of a place as any to start looking for information on vengeful gay ghosts.” She waves her hand aimlessly, shaking her head like she can’t believe that is actually her plan for the evening.

Dean speaks right before Sam can. “So you think the ghost, the person who died, was gay?”

Kate and Josh share a glance, they both shrug. “Well, yeah,” Kate answers. Dean definitely hears the unspoken duh. “Why else would we be the targets? This ain’t the first rodeo in the arena.” 

Charlie looks up at that, a triumphant gleam in her eye. She licks the tip of her index finger and makes an imaginary tic mark in the air. Sam rolls his eyes. 

“But we are the first IGRA event.” Kate shrugs again. “I just assumed…”

Sam’s shaking his head in disgust. Dean knows it’s aimed at himself though, because he feels it, too. He and Sam hadn’t talked about it, but he imagines Sam’s thought process had been similar to his. They’d been treating it like this rodeo school was, for want of a better word, normal.

Dean prided himself on his live-and-let live-attitude. He’d channeled sensitive, politically-correct, teenaged Sam, and told himself that it didn’t matter than it was a ‘gay’ rodeo. He was so busy trying to be blind to that part of it, that he’d missed the fact of course it was important, that it was at the heart of it.

Sam looks at him and chuckles ruefully. “We’re idiots.” Dean nods in agreement. 

Sam runs his fingers through his hair and gazes off into the middle distance. Dean knows he’s mentally reviewing all the articles he read this morning, looking at them through this new filter. He can hear the gears grinding in Sam’s giant brain. 

Sam turns back to the group, spreading his arms a little hopelessly. “I’m not sure that makes it any easier. It’s not like the obits say, ‘So and So, local homosexual died, blah blah blah.’”

“Sure they do,” Josh answers. “You just gotta know how to break the code.” Charlie and Kate nod in agreement.

Once again, Dean feels lost, and once again it’s Charlie to the rescue. She’s like his spirit guide into the world of the gay, and Dean’s really glad no case like this came up before they’d met her. 

“Look, I’ve know how you guys do it. Look at the obits, see if something odd shows up, some pattern, Right?”

They nod. Sam sits back down on top of the picnic table and tugs Dean down next to him.

“And it never says, oh, Mrs. Jones was killed by a vampire. It’s like on Buffy. Barbeque fork accidents, yeah?” She looks at Dean, proud of her explanation. Dean frowns and nods. Yeah, he gets that. 

Sam is nodding now, excited like the research geek he is, to be seeing a whole new thing for him to learn. “So, if you just know what to look for…” He starts out slowly. “Like –“

“Confirmed bachelor,” Kate offers. Josh nods.

“Beloved sister and aunt, never married,” Josh supplies. “Or check where they worked. Or if they left someplace suddenly. Especially if they were unmarried teachers, or someone who worked with kids. Or the military.”

Dean nods. “Conduct unbecoming.”

“Yep. And gay rodeo officially started in Nevada in the 70s. So if someone says they were there then.” Josh shrugs.

“Ooh, ooh,” Charlie’s into it now. “Longtime companion.”

“An oldie but a goodie,” Kate agrees. “Survived by a ‘friend’ or ‘family friend’ is also good.”

“We were clueless,” Dean admits to Sam. 

“Yep.” Sam sighs. “Now I’ve really got to get back to the library.” He frowns. “Maybe I should skip the roping course.” He holds his hands out to Dean as if asking for the car keys.

Dean slaps his hand over his front pocket where his keys live. “No way, Yosemite Sam. I want to see you cowboying up.”

Charlie makes a strangled almost-laughing sound. Kate slaps her hand over her mouth and pulls her against her. “Okay. Let’s do our thing. You guys go to your classes. Gunny and I have some business to discuss and we’ll meet back around dinner time. The library’s open late. We’ll grab some food. We’ll all go to the library,” She narrows her eyes at Dean’s eye roll. “All,” she repeats. “See what we can pick up. Then head over to Shotz.” She looks between them. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam says.

Dean leans against him with a moan and a grimace. “Research?” he fakes whines. “And karaoke? How ‘bout I just stay here and clean the guns?”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Charlie asks, biting her bottom lip to keep from smiling.

Sam laughs, that traitor. Dean just glares. “What are you? Twelve?”

Charlie sticks out her tongue at him. “Takes one to know one, Braveheart.”

“You got that right,” Josh grins with the beginning of a leer at Sam and Dean.

Dean damns his complexion for the millionth time in his life as he can feel the blush starting on his cheeks. Sam laughs out loud and Dean would suffer any kind of embarrassment to hear that. Sam looks good out here, all loose and sprawling, his eyes still crinkled with amusement. Dean makes a pledge to get him out of the bunker more often. And Kevin. He’s got to get the both some fresh air. Some of pleasure goes out of his day as he remembers the disasters waiting for them back at home.

Sam feels Dean sag against him and puts his arm around Dean, pulling him against his side for a quick hug. “Oh it won’t be that bad,” he promises, oblivious to the deeper source of Dean’s sudden mood change. “There’s pool. And beer. Two of your favorite things.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, rubbing his hand across his eyes, suddenly really tired. Sam squeezes him again without saying anything. 

Charlie is tugging Kate and she gives Dean and Sam a small wave as she walks away.

Josh gives Dean a long look and a small smile. “So three o’clock?” 

Dean’s smile is fake, but Josh won’t know that. “With bells on,” he answers. He watches as Josh heads over towards the arena. That’s another thing he’s going to have to deal with. But later.

Right now, Sam feels good along his side, and the view across the fields up to the foothills is peaceful. Dean shivers from the breeze, from the sweat drying on his skin. Dean shifts so his back is pressed just a bit against Sam’s chest. Sam rubs his hand gently up and down Dean’s arm and Dean can’t be bothered to try and figure out if he’s doing it consciously or not. Fuck it. He wants this, he needs it, and he’s going to take it if Sam’s offering. Sam’s the one who sighs as Dean relaxes under his arm, his head falling back to rest against Sam’s really broad chest. And if Dean rests his hand on the warm denim of Sam’s thighs, and if Sam turns his head to rub his check against Dean’s hair, well, there’s no one to notice but the prairie dogs peeking up through the dirt.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam gets a date and almost has a revelation.

There’s something mesmerizing about watching Sam throw the rope over and over. Dean wasn’t listening to the instructor, content to watch Sam’s face as he listened and learned.

Sammy was always so serious when he was learning a new thing, always paid attention really hard. He got that little crease over his forehead, and his eyebrows would draw together. When he was little, Dean had thought he’d needed glasses because of how intently he would look, how close he would crowd if given the opportunity. But, no, that was just Sammy. He needed to hear everything, see everything. 

They way Sammy runs his hands over the ropes, watching, imitating the teacher’s motions perfectly, bottom lip between his lips, makes Dean remember so many different times in his life. Teaching Sam to tie his shoes, to write, to thrown a knife, watching him watch Dean as he assembled and reassembled the guns over and over until Sam could do it perfectly.

Sam’s genuine smile of delight when he ropes the horned barrel on his first throw makes something hitch in Dean’s heart. The wind blows Sam’s hair out from behind his ears and Dean has to clench his fists against the urge to tuck it back.

Sam pushes his hair back. It lasts about five seconds before it slides back out again. When he bends down to listen to what the instructor is saying his forehead creases and he’s biting his bottom lip again. He nods, then steps back a couple of feet further away from the target. Dean can see him calculating. He swings the rope, once, twice, and tosses the rope. It seems to float gently through the air and drop softly and lightly onto the dummy.

One the men in the class whistles, impressed. Dean can’t blame him. Sam is damn sexy when he’ doing something he’s good at. And Sam is good at a lot of things. The guy should see him with throwing knives. There’s this warm glow of pride Dean always feel when people notice Sam. People should notice him. Sam is amazing. Sam steps back even further and does it again.

“That’s my boy!” Dean yells out.

Sam looks back, happy and proud of himself in a way Dean doesn’t think he’s seen in…ever. There’s no life or death in this, no John Winchester waiting to leap on perceived imperfection, no moral ambiguity. It’s just plain fun and Dean realizes he would kill to keep that look on Sam’s face. Sam gives Dean the thumbs up, raising his eyebrows like ‘yeah?’ and Dean has to press his hand into his chest at the hard thump of his heart, and his cheeks hurt with the stretch of his own smile and _fucking a_ he is in love with Sam.

God damn it. 

 

Sam ropes the dummy for the tenth time in a row and looks over to get the good job nod from Dean. But Dean’s not there. _Oh._ Oh well. He checks his watch and sees he’s got five minutes before Dean’s class. That he can’t miss.

He coils the rope for the last time and walks it over to the endlessly patient young woman teaching the class. It reminds Sam of Dean showing him how to tie his shoes for the hundredth time. “I’ve got to go,” he apologizes, handing her the rope. “Thanks. That was surprisingly fun.” 

“No problem.” She checks her watch and yells to the class. “Five more minutes. You got time for a couple more throws. Make ‘em count.” She swings the rope gently in her hands, thwapping it gently against Sam’s legs with a smile. “You’re pretty good at this. You should get yourself a rope and practice.”

Sam pictures him and Dean trying to rope some werewolf as it runs away from them. Sadly, most of the time it’s _them_ running from the monsters. Getting the monsters to come closer is not usually the problem. He tells her it’s a good idea with a smile.

As he ambles over to the far paddock, he mentally reviews the obits from earlier to see if some of them might be worth a second look. The stocky blond guy he almost walks into comes as a surprise. “Oh, sorry,” Sam apologizes. “I didn’t see you.”

The guy shakes his head, a faint blush staining his cheeks pink. “Oh, god. No. I’m sorry. I was just standing here like an idiot.” He looks around like he can’t quite figure out how he got there. “I think I’m little lost.”

Sam smiles. Though this guy is big and blond, with a real varsity football player look to him, there’s something about him that reminds Sam of Kevin. Well, he amends, Kevin before he got ground down by the burden of prophecy. Sometimes he thinks Kevin got the worse deal of all of them; there’s not a lot of free will associated with being a prophet.

He gets out of the way of that train of thought, rubs his eyes, and tries to come back to the present. There nothing he can do about Kevin or Cas or the tablets now. What he can do is try to help this guy. He gives him what Sam hopes is a sincere look.

“Phil,” the man in questions says, holding out his hand for Sam to shake.

Sam shakes back. “Sam, nice to meet you.” He might be imagining things, but Phil’s face seems to be getting even pinker, and he holds onto Sam’s hand longer than social convention calls for. Sam bites back a smile. “Are you okay?” he asks, with a pointed look down at their joined hands.

The flush races to the top of Phil’s ears. “Oh god.” He yanks his hand out of Sam’s. “I’m sorry.”

Sam lets his smile out a little. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal.” He nods at the paper Phil is crumpling in his hand. “Where were you headed, maybe I can help out?”

Phil rubs his hand across the back of his neck, and squints off into the distance. “Uh, I think I’m supposed to be at Intro to Bull Riding? But I’m not quite sure where that is.”

Sam holds up his hands in there you go gesture. “That’s perfect. That’s where I’m headed, you can come with me.”

The guy looks up with a wide smile, bigger than Sam feels the offer calls for. “Thank you. That would be awesome. I’m afraid I’m going to be late and, just between you and me, that Gunny guy kind of scares me. Reminds me of my dad.”

Sam barely avoids rolling his eyes. If Phil thinks Gunny is scary, he would have peed his pants if he’d ever met John Winchester. “Let’s go,” he says.

Phil falls into step next to Sam, matching his pace despite being six inches shorter. “So, uh, have you done this before? Bull riding I mean. Because this is my first time. Matter of fact, it’s my first time at something like, um, _this_ in general.”

The way Phil says ‘this’ makes Sam think he’s talking about more than just rodeo school. Sam raises both his eyebrows and gives a quick shake of the head. “Yeah. Mine, too,” he confesses. He gets a few more paces away before realizing that Phil has stopped walking. He turns to see Phil staring at him, mouth open a little, blue eyes are wide. Sam mentally deducts two years Phil’s age. 

“Really?” the kid asks.

“Really,” Sam assures him. 

Phil looks down, digs the toe of his well-worn boots into the dirt. Looks up at Sam, appraisingly. “I’ve never even had a boyfriend yet. I just, like, came out to my parents last year. I thought they were gonna die. Could you imagine how they would have reacted if I’d bought some guy home?” 

He looks up at Sam for the head nod that says _oh yeah, I’ve been there_. But Sam hasn’t been there. There is plenty he’s had to keep hidden in his life, though, so he really does know where Phil is coming from. He nods sympathetically. “I can honestly say that this is, in fact, my first gay rodeo.” He starts walking again towards the pen, recognizing Dean’s silhouette against the lowering sun. It takes him a bit longer this time to notice that Phil has stopped again. Sam thinks peevishly that Phil really needs to learn how to be surprised and walk at the same time. He doesn’t stop walking, and Phil eventually jogs to catch up.

He won’t look at Sam, keeping his eyes on the ground. Sam can see the beginning of sunburn on the back of his neck. 

Phil finally manages to speak. “Yeah, but. You and that other guy, the really hot one, he’s your boyfriend, right? I mean you guys must have been together for a while? I mean…” Phil trails off in the face of Sam’s expression.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to stop dead. “Dean’s not my boyfriend,” is all he can think to say. 

Phil looks skeptical. “Really? Does he know that?” He shakes his head. “You guys sure touch a lot for ‘not boyfriends’. Friends with benefits then? I had one a those in high school. Handy.”

“No,” Sam almost yells. “No,” he says again, softer at Phil’s confused look. “Just…friends. Dean’s…We’ve been friends a long time. Since we were little kids. And I, I love him, you know. Just not, not like that.” Sam looks away, not really wanting to meet Phil’s eyes right then for some reason. “It would be weird, don’t you think? Like sleeping with your brother?” Sam forces out a laugh that sounds fake even to him.

Must sound odd to Phil, too, judging by the look the younger man gives him. “If you say so.” Now it’s Phil’s turn to walk away as it becomes obvious the class is starting. “All I know is that if I had even the smallest chance with either of you, I’d be all over it like white on rice.” He stops and spins around, looking at Sam, his face flushing red all the way to his hairline. “Oh god. I’m sorry. That sounded awful. Oh shit, I didn’t mean…”

Sam smiles, pats Phil reassuringly on the shoulder. “It’s okay, man. It’s flattering. Thanks.” Phil’s got a really firm shoulder, Sam notices. And he is just such an All-American boy, Sam can almost picture his apple pie life. Mom, dad, kid sister. Dog. Except – except how does being gay fit into that? He said his parents almost died, did they kick him out? That happened sometimes, Sam knew it did. Did he get beat up at school?

Sam feels for the first time that by him and Dean being here, by hiding the fact that he and Dean are straight, let alone brothers, he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be. Like maybe this space wasn’t for him to just come in and pretend to be part of. It was an odd feeling. After all, he’d cut his teeth on lying and pretending to be something he wasn’t. 

Phil’s looking at him with a little smile, and Sam realizes his hand is still on Phil’s shoulder. He pulls it off. “Well, I guess class is starting,” he says, waving in the direction of the group of men clustered around the odd-looking oil-barrel and pivot contraption Sam assumes is the drop-barrel Gunny was talking about it.

Phil doesn’t look. “Yeah. I guess it is.” The blush is still on his face as he inhales. “So,” he says on the exhale. “Since you and that guy aren’t together together, do you want to maybe get a cup of coffee or something sometime?” He bites his lip and looks down, all his courage used up.

Now Sam really feels like shit for lying to, well, everybody here. He runs his fingers through his hair while he thinks about how not to make a bad situation worse. By the way Phil’s smile is gone when he looks up, not answering right away wasn’t the way to do it. 

Phil opens his mouth and Sam interrupts him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here.” Phil is nodding, understandingly, looking like a guy who got shot down, so Sam rushes to finish the sentence. “But I’m here tonight. I think some people are going into town later. To this bar. Are you going?”

“I am now,” Phil blurts. 

“Great,” Sam laughs. “I wasn’t sure you were twenty-one,” he confesses.

Phil looks mock-affronted. “Dude, I’m twenty-six. I know the baby face can fool you.” 

His smile is broad and white and Sam is slammed back to that day Dean came for him at Stanford, when he’d said the same thing to Sam. How old twenty-six had seemed to Sam then. It seems almost impossibly young now, though he’s barely seven years older than that - depending on how you count time.

Over in the pen, Gunny is talking, doing something with some kind of strap, and Phil grimaces. “I really gotta go!” He jogs away backwards for a few steps. “See you tonight!” He waves and turns around.

Sam shakes his head at himself. What the hell has he gotten himself into now? Dean’s going to laugh himself stupid when he finds out Sam has a sorta date with a kid tonight. Wait until he tells him Phil thought they were a couple. It was far from the first time in their lives that had happened, but was the first time in a while. First time in a long time. 

Speaking of Dean, Sam sees Gunny motion for him to step out of the pack and come up to the barrel. Sam leans against the fence and watches as Gunny helps Dean onto the drop barrel. The ring is smaller than Sam expected and Dean’s only about five feet away. Sam could almost reach out and touch him.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says when he spots Sam. There’s a softness in his eyes that Sam hasn’t seen since the time he woke up with Death’s wall in his head. Sam can’t help but smile back.

“Nice cow,” he jokes with a head tilt at the barrel. Gunny is doing something with a strap between Dean’s legs. At least that what it looks like to Sam.

Dean pats it. “Not as nice as yours. Yours had horns.”

Josh finishing fiddling with whatever he was doing that brought him a breath away from Dean’s thighs, and looks over to Sam and nods hello. Sam barely manages to hold back his eye roll and nod back cordially.

Sam can hear Gunny saying something about _getting off your butt, getting your daylight, and settin’ your hips_ but he’s not really listening. Gunny seems awfully handsy with Dean. His hands spend a lot of time on Dean’s thighs and ass as he ‘helps’ Dean into the correct position over his rope. Sam feels that hot flash of annoyance he’s starting to associate with seeing Gunny near Dean. Dean seems awfully okay with it, though, Sam thinks.

And, _woah_. Okay. Wow. That sounded bitchy even in his head. What if Dean _is_ okay with it? It’s not even close to the first time Dean’s been hit on by guys. Suddenly Sam is remembering a handful of times when they were young and Dean had come home all loose and sex-happy but hadn’t given Sam the usual play by play of his evening (all for Sam’s education, of course), and just flopped down with a _go to sleep, Sammy._ Just because he never saw it, doesn’t mean it never happened. After all, it’s not like Dean knows everything about Sam’s sex life either.

But then he sees the back of Gunny’s hand slide down Dean’s thigh and that feeling comes back even stronger. He wants to yank those hands off his brother. He knows how hard Dean’s muscles are, harder than usual since Purgatory, and he know how soft those old jeans are. The combination is really…nice. Sam freezes as he realizes that he knows exactly how almost all of Dean’s body feels beneath his clothes. And thanks to years of stitching Dean up and patching him back together, he knows just how Dean’s skin feels under his hands. Dean’s skin is softer than you would think, especially the spot right at the base of his spine and his inner arms. When Sam’s got his arm around Dean’s shoulder, he likes to rub at that soft skin with his thumb. A little buzz of wrongness is starting to make itself known somewhere deep in Sam’s brain. He tries to track it down but the wind carries Dean’s chuckle across the field and Sam’s attention is drawn to back to him.

Gunny has stepped back ( _about time_ ) and Dean sits there on top of that stupid blue barrel, one hand raised in the air, the other gloved hand wrapped around the rope, strong bowed legs clamped tight around the curved sides and the stupid creases around his eyes deepening as a smile creeps over his face. 

“Ready?” Gunny calls.

Dean nods. Gunny presses down on the level, the drop barrel rocks up and down sharply and Dean whoops out a _yehaw_.

Things get kind of jerky then for Sam. All he sees are flashes of Dean, like he’s being lit by a strobe light. A flash of strong thigh as his legs slap against the metal. The muscles moving across back as his arm flies up and down in a graceful arc. The curve where his neck meets his shoulder. Dean’s eyes flashing like emeralds against the dark sweep of eyelashes.

Sam has just enough time to wonder if the lack of oxygen at this altitude is affecting his brain before Dean goes flying off the barrel to land with a thud on the ground in front of Sam.

He’s laughing silently because the breath has been knocked out of him. His eyes are all crinkled up and he looks like he’s sixteen years old.

“Hey,” Sam says inanely. He knows it must be oxygen deprivation because he’s not thinking right and his eyes won’t stay still. They just keep sweeping up and down Dean’s body lying in the dirt. His gaze slides up the length of his legs, meanders over his chest as it expands and contracts trying to drawn in oxygen. They get stuck on Dean’s mouth where Dean is mouthing ‘awesome’. Dean’s perfect mouth with those plush pink lips. _Cock-sucking_ lips, some traitorous part of his brain thinks, stunning Sam when it helpfully supplies a visual to go with the description. 

“Little help here?” Dean asks from the ground, reaching up for Sam. 

Sam recoils from the touch. He thinks he sees something understanding in Dean’s expression right before Dean’s eyes go dark and hooded and he licks his lower lip, sucking it in between his teeth. “Yeah, Sammy?” he asks, lowering his hand to his chest, still flat on his back at Sam’s feet.

And Sam needs to…do something that is not this. Be somewhere that is not here. Somewhere where he can get away from the realization that maybe Dean’s not pretending to be gay so much as he thought, and that he might not be either. Maybe they’re both risking something here. The things Kate was saying and not saying are suddenly, perhaps, starting to come clear. Sam’s stomach feels like ice.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean has a nasty habit and there is finally some kissing.

Later that night at the library, they’re down a man since Gunny begged off, but it doesn’t matter. Even working in pairs, Dean with Charlie, and Sam with Kate, a second search through the library databases and archives doesn’t yield anything useful.

“You guys find anything?” Dean asks as Sam slides into the passenger’s seat of the Impala. 

Sam shakes his head and slams the heavy door shut. “Nothing. Well, maybe,” he says. “I don’t know.”

He sounds frustrated and Dean can’t blame him. This is real needle-in-a-haystack stuff. And not to sound melodramatic, but lives are at stake. Who knows what the ghost will decide to do tonight? He reaches over to pat Sam’s thigh reassuringly. “You’ll get it; I have faith in your research-fu.”

Sam’s thigh is like iron under Dean’s hands and Dean sees the muscle at the hinges of his jaw jump. Man, the kid is tense. “You okay?” he asks, kneading at Sam’s leg, trying to get him to relax. “Sam?” When he doesn’t answer, Dean moves his hand to the back of Sam’s neck, fingers pressing behind his ear to get to Sam to look at him. “Sammy? Is everything alright?”

Dean can’t read Sam’s expression, but he does feel Sam’s head tilt back to press hard into his hand. He can’t help but rub his thumb up the strong column of Sam’s neck in reflex, cursing silently to himself as he does. But something in Sam’s gaze changes, pupils dilating, and his tongue flicks out to lick at his bottom lip. Dean drops his eyes quickly to follow the movement, not moving his hand. When he looks back up, Sam is looking at him like he can’t look away.

Dean slowly slides his hand away, trying for casual but feeling like he’s on the verge of fucking something up big time. He remembers how Sam had looked at him when he’d fallen off the barrel. He’s pretty sure Sammy had a revelation of his own today. Sam has been touching him a lot less than normal. But he wants to, Dean can tell. 

To tell the truth, Dean’s a little happy for the breathing room. His own revelation is a little more earth-shattering, in Dean’s opinion, that Sam realizing he’s hot for Dean’s form. Everybody else knew it already. And it really doesn’t freak Dean out. He’s spent years dealing with that devil in himself. Sam’s hot, and if he wasn’t Dean’s little brother, he would’ve hit that years ago.

But being in love with Sam? That just takes Dean’s breath away. The things he’s done for Sam over the years, take care of him, feed him, try to keep him alive, he wants to keep doing. Wants to grow old with Sam, to keep him riding shotgun into the sunset. And goddamn it when did he turn into a fourteen year old girl? He seriously needs a drink.

He leans away from Sam. “You okay?”

Sam sways towards Dean and Dean freezes. Can’t move away, can’t move in. Sam makes an abortive lift of the hand towards Dean’s face, then drops his hand back down in his lap with a deep sigh. He gives Dean a tight nod and a strained smile. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m good. Just tired, you know? Long, frustrating day. I could use a drink.”

Dean starts the car and exhales just as deeply. “Oh, god yes,” he agrees, pulling out to follow Kate’s truck. He can feel Sam’s gaze on him still, but he keeps his hands at ten and two and his eyes on the road and drives.

 

Sam walks into the nondescript bar with a grateful sigh more suited to Dean than to him. After the self-revelations he’d had today, watching Gunny hit on Dean, and the lack of anything concrete in the library, and oh yeah, almost kissing Dean in the car, Sam really thinks that what this day needs is absolutely more alcohol. He flinches away from the light touch of Dean’s hand on his lower back as they go through the second set of doors. Dean gives him the same quizzical looks he’s been giving him since they met back up after Dean’s class. 

Sam knows he’s acting weird around Dean but he can’t stop. He’s suddenly painfully aware of how often they touch, how often he reaches for Dean, and how Dean doesn’t move away. Now he can’t decide whether he wants to move in closer or step away when Dean leans into to him, and Dean is starting to look at Sam with a sad kind of understanding that makes something inside Sam ache.

His eyes follow Dean as he joins Gunny at the crappy pool table. Kate walks by holding some beers and hands one to Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam says, downing half of it in one long pull.

Kate’s eyebrows raise but all she says is “Long day?”

Sam’s mouth twists in a wry smile. “Does Gunny know Dean and I are brothers?” he asks apropos of nothing. But Kate seems to get it. 

She looks over to Dean and Josh at the pool table. Dean’s leaning against the wall, and Gunny stands sideways to him, speaking into his ear. “No,” she answers.

Sam nods. “Good.” 

Kate pats him sympathetically on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get a table.” 

Turning away from the pool table, he finishes his beer as he follows her.

 

Within the hour, they end up at on a small raised seating area, pulling together the tiny tables and colonizing the cramped space. Baskets of fried food and various glasses clutter the table tops. Kate calls Mama Deb over and introduces Sam and Dean to them, saying they’re new to this whole thing and they wanted to hear some history of the area.

Dean watches as Sam uses his silver tongue to get the conversation going in the direction they need. Three beers and one shot later, and Sam and Deb are in private conversation at the bar, and Dean’s feeling no pain.

The place is still mostly empty except for them and a few regulars. Gunny is acting jumpy, Kate and Charlie are visiting with the other bartender and the locals, and Dean is bored.

“Wanna play some more?” Dean asks Josh, motioning to the pool table.

Gunny shrugs. “That’s a pretty crappy table,” he comments, drawing his fingers idly through a puddle of condensation on the table.

“Can’t argue with that. Still, not much else to do. This place is dead.”

Gunny looks up as if noticing the lack of a crowd for the first time. He checks his watch. “It’s still a little early yet. They’ll start coming in around ten, ‘bout a half an hour.”

As if to prove him right, the door opens and two men around Gunny’s age come in, followed by a young girl in a black leather jacket. They claim one of the tall tables against the wall for themselves.

Gunny stands up, motioning to Dean’s empty cup. “Another?” 

Dean looks over and where Sam leans against the bar, all long denim-clad legs and t-shirt tight across his wide shoulders, loose over his narrow waist. “Yeah. And a shot. Whatever those were from before.”

Gunny nods and walks to the bar. The door behind them is opening and closing pretty steadily now as the bar starts to fill up. Gunny comes back with the drinks and Sam. Sam whose cheeks are pink like they always get when he drinks, and whose eyes are sparkling with the excitement of a solid lead. 

Dean smiles up at him. “Got something, Sammy?” he drawls, reaching for his shot and beer. 

Sam cuts him off, grabbing and downing the shot before Dean can grab it. “Hey,” Dean protests. “Get your own, loser.”

Sam hands him the beer as a peace offering and flips one of the chairs around, lowering himself into it so he’s straddling it, arms crossed on the back. “I think I got a solid lead.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, raising his glass for a toast. Sam obligingly clinks his empty shot glass against Dean’s beer. “So what do you have?”

“So get this,” Sam starts. “About twenty years ago there was this guy –“ He stops as Gunny abruptly pushes his chair back and leaves. Dean and Sam both turn to watch him go, then look back at each other.

Dean sighs. “We gotta talk to him, don’t we?” Sam nods, and Dean sighs again. “Damn it. I wanted him to be a good guy.”

Sam grabs beers and downs a fair bit of it. “Hey,” Dean protests. “Seriously. It’s a bar, dude. Get your own.” 

Sam stands up and Dean’s head is starting to spin with all the sudden movement and chair slamming. “I will,” Sam says. “And you can go ask your boyfriend what he was up to twenty years ago.”

Dean spreads his hands in confusion, “Sam…seriously.” Dean is suddenly too drunk to deal with Sam’s open jealousy and what it, coupled with the weird moment they had in the car on the way here, might mean. He’s not ready for this. Nor is he ready for the big, blond jock who bounds up to their table, all eager and slobbering when he catches sight of Sam.

“You’re here!” He looks like a kid who just got that new bike for Christmas. 

Sam’s eyes dart from the kid to Dean and back again. “I said I would be, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but, you know.” The kid’s eyes flick to Dean and back.

Now Dean’s dizzy from all the eye movements. Shit, it’s like some bad soap opera. _Fuck it_. He finishes what beer Sam’s left him in one gulp, then leans back in his chair, rubs his hands on his thighs, and gives the guy a thorough going over. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the hard line of Sam’s mouth. “Who’s your friend, Sammy?”

The blond guy sticks his hand out earnestly. “I’m Phil. Remember? We were in the bull riding class together.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I do. What I mostly remember is getting thrown onto the ground over and over.”

Phil’s eyes widen. “Oh no. Man, you were great. Best in the class.”

Dean directs a small smirk at Sam. “Hear that, Sammy? Best in the class.” He turns back to Phil. “So, you and Sam made a plan to meet here?”

Phil looks over at Sam and smiles. “Yeah, kind of.” Now he’s back to looking between them and Dean wonders if the kid is going to give himself eyestrain. “If that’s okay,” Phil asks, nervously.

Dean shakes his head with a small frown as he stands. He claps his hand heavily on Sam’s shoulder. “Not my call. Sam’s a big boy, he can do what he wants.”

“Dean,” Sam says. 

They’ve always fit so much into the way they say each other’s names and this time is no exception. Dean can hear frustration, pleading, and anger with a definite edge of we-need-to-talk, and that is _so_ not happening right now.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dean says, shaking Phil’s hand and ignoring Sam’s steely gaze as he slips outside just as the DJ announces the official opening of the karaoke floor.

Outside the night air is cool and it feels good on Dean’s overheated skin. He looks around, wondering what to do now and hoping he can bum a cigarette off someone. He sees Charley and walks over to where she stands with a small group of people talking under a street light. 

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Dean replies, looking up and down the street. “Is Josh out here?”

Charlie shakes her head. “He came out a little while ago, said he was going back to the arena. What’s up?”

Dean sighs. Looks up at the sky. No answers there. Looks back down at Charley’s open, sympathetic face. “I’m in love with Sam and I think he wants to sleep with me.”

One the guys in Charlie’s group fist bumps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, way to go.”

Charley smacks the guy on the back of his head and tugs Dean away from the group towards the long alley between the bar and the bar next to it. College towns.

“So?” Charlie stands in front of him, hands on her hips. 

Dean looks longingly at the red glow of cigarettes further down the alley. Charlie sighs, then digs around in her coat pocket, pulling out a pack and offering it to Dean.

“Full of surprises, Charles,” Dean jokes, pulling one out of the pack. 

“You have no idea,” she says.

Dean leans back against the brick wall and pulls his lighter out of his jeans. With a click, the flame flares up and Dean lights his cigarette with practiced ease. He leans over and lights Charlie’s as well. Charlie waits less than patiently as he takes a deep drag and blows it out with a sigh.

“Well?” She’s going to punch him soon, Dean’s sure of it.

“I think I’m in love with Sam.” Damn it, that’s not what he meant to say.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

Dean rolls his eyes, throws his hands up in exaggeration. “I don’t know!”

Charlie elbows Dean gently. “Have you ever been in love with anyone else?”

 _I’m not in love with Sam_ , is what he wants to say, but it’s way too late for that. He thinks of Lisa then and wants to say _yes, of course I have_ , but he’s not sure that was love. He’s not sure he wants what he and Lisa had to be love, what with the being passed out drunk or practically comatose with PTSD half the time. Love has to be more than that. It should feel like more. Not just safer and more comfortable and better than being alone.

He thinks of how it felt to leave Lisa, and how it felt to lose Sam. Imagines how it would feel to lose him again. There’s nothing but a black pit there. When, if, Sam goes, Dean’s going with him. He doesn’t know if that’s love or what, but it is what it is. All he needs and wants is to be with Sam. There’s no point in denying it. Actually, giving into it feels good. Like he can relax and stop trying to even imagine there’s something else, even for a night. What’s the point? He’s tired of temporary, of casual sex with strangers. He doesn’t say any of this to Charlie. He figures she knew before he did.

“Pretty sure,” Dean says, answering her question.

She turns away, presumable to look down the alley, but Dean can see the edges of smirk through the curtain of her hair. He’s also pretty sure he hears her say something that sounds like _no shit, Sherlock_ , but he’s going to let that slide. She turns back, takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows a fairly impressive smoke ring. “So,” she asks, “What are you going to do now?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Dean snarls. Her eyebrows rise up to her hairline. He puts his hands up between them. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m a little drunk and I’m a dick.”

She gently takes his hands and lowers them. “You’re not a dick. It’s…well.”

“Yeah.” He knows.

She takes a last drag and stamps the cigarette out on the wall, pocketing the butt. “So how do you think Sam feels?”

Dean just shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. I just don’t know. I mean, we were barely speaking a couple of weeks ago. And the whole Amelia thing.”

“And Benny,” Charlie adds.

Dean eyes narrow at her. He doesn’t want to have to think about that. About having to say goodbye to Benny. But doesn’t that just make it even more clear how he feels about Sam? What he felt for Benny was real, but nothing compared to this. It was a raindrop the ocean that is what Sam means to him. When it comes down to it, he’ll choose Sam. Always Sam.

“Maybe it doesn’t change anything,” he says, surprising them both. “So I’m in love with him. So what? I’ve lived my whole life like that.” He realizes as he says it that it’s true. He’s never really ever been convinced anything was truly real, that anything else mattered, but Sam.

 

“I think it makes a big difference. Especially if Sam feels the same way,” she says, blowing smoke rings up into the night. 

Dean thinks about the feel of Sam’s hands on him, his stupid face during the roping class, the way he bites his lip and wrinkles his brow when he’s really into the research, and wonders how he is going to live one more day without kissing Sam. 

They smoke in silence for a minute before Kate’s voice calling for Charlie interrupts the quiet. “Be out in a second!” Charlie calls down the alley.

“Okay,” Kate answers. “We’re up next though, so hurry.”

“Think about it,” Charlie says, handing him the pack. “And come watch me sing.”

He nods. Thinking about it isn’t the problem. “I’ll be right in,” he promises.

Maybe he should just go back to the arena. He really does need to talk to Gunny. But he should probably get some more info from Sam, if he’s not too busy with Mr. All-American Teen to talk. He stubs out his cigarette and drops it on the ground. Just as he’s steeling himself for the aural assault of karaoke, Sam comes around the corner. He’s walking oddly hunched over.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he says as he gets closer. He straightens up, pulling out two full shot glasses from underneath his flannel overshirt.

“Should you have these out here?” Dean asks. “Aren’t there open container laws in these parts?” 

“Just drink it.” He looks eminently put upon, but he often looks that way around Dean.

“Okay.” Dean takes the glass from Sam. “ _L’Chaim_ ,” he says as they clink their glasses together. He coughs at the rough tequila. Sam cuts off his complaints by shoving a lime slice into his mouth. Dean bites down and the sharp juice makes his teeth ache, nicely complimenting the way the tequila makes his lips tingle.

Dean hands Sam back the shot glass, wishing he had brought the bottle out. “So isn’t your date going to be jealous you left?”

Sam doesn’t even bother making a face, just swirls his tongue into the shot glass to get the last drop. Dean can’t help put fantasize about how Sam would taste right now.

“Where’s Gunny?” Sam asks.

“Charlie said he left a little while ago.” 

Sam frowns. “We really need to talk to him.”

“I know,” Dean says.

“No, really,” Sam repeats. “Get this.” He looks around to see if anyone is close enough to overhear. It’s a nice night and the patio at the frat bar next door is getting crowded. So Sam pulls Dean further down the alley between the bars. 

Dean just kind of slides sideways and goes with his brother. He might be a little more drunk than he usually lets himself get on a case. Sam stops about halfway down the alley, and Dean leans back, shoulder against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. Slumped like this, he’s even shorter than he usually is compared to Sam. 

Sam rests his forearm on the wall over Dean’s head and leans down to whisper in Dean’s ear. Dean can tell from the flush in his cheeks and the heat coming off his body that Sam isn’t exactly sober himself. 

Sam tugs at Dean’s collar as he remembers what he wanted to say. “So, get this, Deb told me that there was this guy that died here about twenty years ago. Rumor was it was suicide.” Sam runs his hands down the sides of Dean’s jacket, like he’s smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. He watches his own movements as if he’s fascinated by the look of his hands on Dean. 

Dean grabs his hands to stop him and doesn’t let go. Sam doesn’t pull away. Instead, he looks around again and steps closer to Dean, straddling one of Dean’s outstretched legs. 

Arousal is beginning to slink in around the edges of Dean’s body which is already buzzing from the alcohol, to seep into the parts of Dean’s brain already dizzy from the smoke. He really needs to kiss Sam now.

“You’re taking up the whole alley,” Sam complains. But his eyes close and he exhales sharply as his body rests against Dean’s. 

Dean will be damned if he can process one word of what Sam is saying. He can feel Sam’s inner thigh against his leg, the muscles of Sam’s chest as he presses closer, and the tight grip on his arm. Sam’s hand wraps three quarters of the way around Dean’s not insubstantial biceps. Shit, Dean can smell the fucking _shampoo_ Sam used this morning because his hair is brushing against Dean’s face. Can smell the tequila on his breath and see it on his lips. And really. _C’mon_.

Dean is concentrating on breathing steady and not grabbing Sam by the belt and just grinding his quad up between Sam’s legs, so he kinda misses it when Sam’s stream of half-whispered words peters out. He feels it when Sam flicks his ear, though. Dean tosses his head and Sam laughs. 

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying are you?” Sam reaches down and rubs Dean’s hair. All the breath rushes out of Dean in a massive sigh. He turns his head, tilts it up to Sam. 

Sam’s hand drops to his face.

Dean searches his eyes, looking for something, any sign that Sam knows what he’s doing. He licks his dry lips and there it is. It’s just a flicker, but Sam’s eyes drop to Dean’s mouth and he licks his lips in imitation. 

Dean pushes himself up the wall. His leg drags against Sam’s as he does and, because he’s watching so closely, he sees Sam’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and then the delicate skin around them tightens. Sam’s hand drops to Dean’s shoulder. Yeah, Sam knows what’s going on. And what they hell is Dean supposed to do with that?

“Did Charlie give you the ‘don’t tell anyone we’re brothers’ speech?” he finally asks.

“Yeah.” Sam starts to shift away from the wall and now Dean does reach out, grabs him by the belt, keeping him in place.

“Do you know why she said that?” Dean’s voice is low, steady, and every time he licks his lip, Sam’s eyes drop. Sam shakes his head no, and Dean can see Sam’s chest rising and falling, a little deeper with each breath. Looks like Dean’s not the only one who sucks at lying tonight. Oh well, _in tequila veritas._

“Because of shit like this, Sammy,” and he tugs on Sam’s belt loop and presses against Sam’s thigh, emphasizing just how close Sam has moved into Dean’s space. “What do you think this would look like if someone saw us?” 

Sam turns his head, looks down the alley, like he could somehow see them from an outsider’s point of view. He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head like he’s denying something Dean hasn’t said yet. His mouth grazes against Dean’s as he does. He does it again, slower, just a ghost touch and Dean is harder than he can remember being in a long time.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes out. He licks his own lips, tasting the tequila there.

Sam leans his forehead against Dean’s. “I didn’t know, Dean. Before.” He blinks, trying for more coherence. “I didn’t know why she would say that.” He tries again to pull away, but Dean keeps his fingers hooked into the belt loop. 

“Do you know now?” Dean presses.

Sam’s answer is his mouth on Dean’s. And, _oh_ , it feels good. There’s no hesitation, no awkward angles. There’s nothing tentative about it, and Dean’s hands find their way into Sam’s hair. One of Sam’s hands cradles Dean’s head, protecting it from the brick and the other is clenched tightly in Dean’s shirts. Dean’s world is hot, and wet, and wild, and Sam. Sam’s teeth on his lip, his tongue in Dean’s mouth. 

Lust and love and alcohol in his veins, swirling around his head, Sam’s lips on his mouth, his neck, his temple, and Sam’s breathy moans and soft cries of _Dean, Dean_ , and it’s like trying not to drown as he wrenches Sam’s head away. Not like this. Not in some back alley, half drunk and lust blind, with nothing but cold, clammy pants and embarrassed looks to show for it. If this was going to happen, it wouldn’t be like this.

Sam’s eyes are frightened and his chest heaves. He hasn’t moved away from Dean, but Dean can feel him tensing. 

“No, Sam. Sam. It’s okay.” He pulls Sam in for a hard, deep, but quick kiss.

God, what if this is just a one-time thing for Sam? Dean knows he won’t be able to live with that. It’s already almost too late. Now he knows what Sam tastes like, what it feels like to have him pressed hard and hot against his body. _Oh god_.

“I’m sorry, Dean. Sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry.” He pushes Sam upright, smoothes his shirts down and runs his hands over Sam’s chest, slips his thumb under the top of his jeans and into the cut of his hip. His fingers brush over the velvet tip of Sam’s hard cock and they both groan. Dean closes his eyes, fingers curling into Sam’s shirts again. _Jesus_. He summons every ounce of strength and pushes Sam away. Further away this time. Where Dean can’t feel his body heat anymore. 

Sam looks hurt and seriously turned on and about one second away from just slamming Dean back against the wall. If that happens, Dean won’t be able to say no a second time. He holds up a hand in warning. “Sam, please.” His voice breaks and it’s enough.

“Dean?” Sam pleads.

“Just, not like this, Sammy. Not here. Not half drunk, okay?” He pushes off from the wall, groaning as his jeans stretch across his still-hard dick. Sam still looks like only his hindbrain is functioning right now and he can’t decide whether to fuck or fight.

“Sam. We gotta talk about this first. Okay?” Dean figures he deserves the derisive snort and half laugh. He nods his head toward the street. “Why don’t you go tell the girls I’m ready to head back. How ‘bout you? You wanna stay or go?”

Sam looks like Dean’s asked him to choose between the electric chair and lethal injection. “I want to go with you, Dean.” He answers, like Dean’s slow. And Dean would have to agree with him. “If you want me.” He adds, slowly.

And Dean just has to laugh at how fucked up this is. He pushes Sam gently towards the street. “It’s not…I’m not sorry. It’s just. Fuck. We need to talk about this.” 

Sam gives a short shocked laugh. 

“Shut up, jerk.” And he grabs Sam and kisses him again. Because apparently he can. And it’s good, so good. _Jesus Christ on a crutch_ how is he going to live without this if Sam isn’t on the same page. Because he can’t do this once and never again. Just can’t. And when did get to be the girl in this relationship, and when did this love, family, whatever it is between them start? He ignores the voice in his head telling him it started the second moment John placed baby Sammy in his arms and told Dean to keep him safe. 

“Just go. I’ll be five minutes,” Sam nods, moving his arms like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Ends up shoving them deep into his jacket pockets. “Okay, Five minutes?”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna…” Dean gestures further down the alley where some people are smoking. He turns and walks towards them, feeling Sam’s eyes on him the whole fifteen feet. He pulls out Charlie’s pack of cigarettes and lights one. He takes a deep inhale and turns. Sam is still there, he knew it. Keeping his eyes locked on Sam, he exhales the smoke into the night air. They both look up to watch it spiral. When Dean puts the cigarette back to his mouth and sucks the smoke deep into his lungs, Sam hunches his shoulders up and turns to go. “Five minutes,” Dean calls. Sam pauses, nods, walks around the corner.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a ghost is laid to rest, the Impala sees some action, and Charlie and Kate are goddesses.

It’s late by the time they get back. The night is dark out at the edge of town and the wind whips small vortexes of sand and gravel up around their legs as they walk to their trailer. The silence from the car walks with them. It’s a laden silence, Sam thinks, and full of promises. Maybe it’s the night, or the wind, or the tequila, or the looming shadows of the mountains pressing down onto him, but this moment feels separate from real time, as if everything that’s happened since he stepped into that alley with Dean belongs to a different Sam and Dean than he’s known before.

Or it could be the almost-sex he just had with his brother in that same alley. Yeah. It could be that.

A coyote yips in the distance, and Sam pushes the wild strands of hair out his face. He holds it back with one hand as he trails behind Dean. He can’t stop staring at Dean. He’s been watching Dean his whole life. Even when their father was alive, it was Dean who has been his lodestone, his compass, and the center around which his world rotates. He can’t remember not loving Dean. But somehow, sometime, without his awareness, his love underwent a sea-change into something rich and strange, and now Sam can’t stop feeling Dean’s mouth on his, Dean’s hips under his hands, and Dean’s thigh pressed against his.

The full moon throws stark silvery shadows across the prairie, and the trailer creaks and rocks with the force of the wind. Dean stares out into the fields behind them. “Dean?” Sam asks, voice so low he’s not sure Dean can hear him.

Dean does. He always does. “Look,” he says, lifting an arm to point out into the night. 

Sam steps up behind Dean to look over his shoulder. His hair whips across Dean’s cheeks now too, and he can smell cigarette smoke and leather on Dean’s skin. He can just make out something moving towards them over the ground. Silently, the first tumbleweed rolls and bounces past them. 

They lean against the trailer, pressed together, watching as a river of tumbleweeds rolls past them, scattering as they run up against the cars and trailers in the parking lot. Sam can tell Dean’s tracking one particular one that seems to be avoiding all the impediments in its way. As it breaks free of the arena’s parking lot and skitters across the road, Dean calls out to it, “Run, little dude! Be free!”

Sam laughs silently and presses more firmly against Dean. He doesn’t know where they go from here, doesn’t know what happens next. Everything from this moment on could be new. It’s a reckless, wild feeling for a wild night and Sam is content to stay inside of it as long as he can. 

Dean’s arm slides around him and Sam just sags down. It makes all kinds of things swirl around in his head. Makes him feel like a kid again, protected by Dean, comforted by Dean, loved by Dean. And it’s been a long, long time since he felt that simple joy. Part of him wants to kiss Dean again, just roll his head and press into that perfect mouth. But he’s coming down from the adrenaline and the alcohol, and he feels like he could fall asleep right here, standing up against this old trailer, listening to the wind blowing.

He feels Dean tug at his shoulder. “C’mon,” Dean is saying. “Let’s get you to bed, big boy.”

Bed. The bed he shares with Dean. He hesitates against the pull of Dean’s arm. With his liquid courage burned off, all that’s left is the desire and the uncertainty. Sam doesn’t trust his wants very much anymore. 

Dean pulls open the screen door, holding it against the wind. He has a hold of Sam’s jacket. Sam reaches up to grab Dean’s wrist. “Dean,” he says. It’s the only thing he can say. He doesn’t really know what he is means by it, but he hopes Dean does.

Dean seems, too. When he looks at Sam his face is serious but his eyes are smiling. “It’s okay, Sam. We’ll just sleep. Talk in the morning, okay?”

Sam nods, squeezes Dean’s wrist before dropping it and following him into the trailer.

Sam throws his coat and overshirt on the table and claims first shower. Then he stands theer awkwardly, not sure if can, or should, take his clothes off in front of Dean, but there’s not really room in the miniscule bathroom to change. Dean takes pity on him and disappears into the bedroom. 

Dean slips out of his clothes, wrinkling his nose at the lingering smell of cigarette smoke. They’re going to have to hit the Laundromat if this goes another two days.

The sheets are cool against his skin as he slides under the covers. He hears the water from the shower start up. He’s not above imagining what Sam looks like naked under the spray, and he can feel the molten flow of desire moving through his veins again. His desire never truly ebbed, and a slow drag of his hand between his legs is enough to bring him back to full hardness. It feels so good, he does it again, the rough cotton of his briefs providing just a tiny bit of extra friction. If he’s going to make it through the night without molesting Sam, he’s going to have to take care of this.

There’s a slight thump from the wall the bedroom shares with the shower, and Dean smiles at the image of Sam trying to soap up his huge body in the tiny shower. Smiles, and then groans at the thought of Sam and soap and heat. The thump repeats, and Dean realizes the splash of water pounding against the floor is pulsing - hard and soft, hard and soft - like something is interrupting it. There’s another thump and a strangled moan, and he realizes Sam must be jerking off.

There is only so much Dean can take in one night and he’s been so hard for so. He slips his hands into his briefs and starts stroking himself in earnest. He’s done with teasing and dragging it out. The slip and drag of a callus over the sensitive tip pulls a groan out of him. He hears Sam’s choked off groan from the shower and then the strong thud of a fist against the wall, and he thinks _Sammy just came_. The force of his orgasm takes him by surprise and clenches all the muscles in his body up. He jackknives up, shooting hot and strong into his hand and the inside of his briefs.

A soft litany of profanity and Sam’s name is spilling out of his mouth when his body starts registering the creeping cold as the temperature plummets. “Fuck. Sam!”

Dean leaps up just as Sam bursts out of the bathroom. His eyes flick down to the huge wet spot on the front of Dean’s white boxer briefs. There’s a suspiciously shimmering trail on Sam’s stomach and thighs, and Dean has to fight the urge to drop to his knees and lick it off Sam’s damp skin. Probably not the best decision when under attack by murderous spirits.

The cold deepens and from the windows they can hear horses neighing and moving restlessly. There’s the clanging of metal as something bangs against the back end of the trailer.

“Propane tanks,” Sam pronounces, heading for the door.

“Sam,” Dean says, stopping him. With the crook of an eyebrow, he throws Sam’s jeans at him. “Get dressed.” He shoves his legs into jeans, and slides his feet into boots (ghost or no ghost, goatheads in the feet are no joke). When he pushes past Sam, his brother grabs him and kisses him hard on the mouth. 

Dean slaps him upside the head. “One, we’re not going to get killed by a stupid ghost, so don’t kiss me like it’s the last chance you’ll get.”

Sam laughs and shoves his legs into his jeans. 

Dean kisses him this time. “And B, we are so talking about this.”

They grab the shotguns, stuffing extra rounds in their pockets, and burst from the trailer. The wind yanks the door out of Dean’s hands, whips dirt into his eyes and against his cheeks. Sam runs towards the tanks and Dean hears the unmistakable sound of a shotgun cocking and firing. When Dean reaches the rear of the trailer, he sees the ghost forming and reforming as Sam fires round after round of salt into it.

The wind blows the salt way almost before it hits the ghost. Dean fires, giving Sam time to reload. “What the fuck, Sam? We can’t shoot it forever!”

Gunny, Kate, and Charlie and come running towards the fight. Kate’s got a gun and a huge flashlight. Charlie’s got a tire-iron that she brandishes like a pro, and Josh runs to the front of the with his own shotgun. Sam stops him with a hand on his arm, holding up his shotgun. “Rocksalt rounds! It’s the only thing that stops them.”

Dean fires his last round into the echoing silence. Sam raises his gun to cover Dean. Kate’s flashlight flickers onto Josh’s face just as the ghost reappears behind Dean, tossing him to the side. Dean hits the ground with a thud. Dean sees the ghost stop flickering and solidify. It’s a man, in his early 20s, Dean guesses, and it freezes, looking right at Gunny. Sam shoots it again and it dissipates. They wait, not moving for long minutes. Dean pulls himself up with a groan and joins the crowd.

Charlie looks pointedly at his naked chest, then at Sam’s shirtless state, and looks back at Dean, eyebrows raised.

He glares at her and mouths silently _Really? Now?_

She half-smiles in apology.

“Is it coming back?” Kate asks.

Sam and Dean trade shrugs. “I don’t know,” Sam answers.

Dean turns to Sam, “Tell me you got something useful tonight. I really hate that ghost.”

Sam shakes his head. “I got a story, but no name. It’s not definite it’s our guy, but it’s something. I was going to look it up tomorrow. Suicide about 20 years ago. Some guy who hooked up with a cowboy.”

Gunny, who has has been quiet the whole time, steps up to the brothers. His shotgun rests in the curve of his arm. “I know who it is.” 

Sam and Dean turn as one to look at him.

“I recognized him,” he explains.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean exhales, rubbing his hand across his chin. “Give Sam the name. We’ll get dressed, find out where he’s buried and end this.”

“Um,” Charlie says, raising her hand like she’s in class. “What if he comes back? He looked pissed.”

Sam and Dean exchange looks. Dean looks over at the dark bulk of the arena, looks back at Sam. Sam nods.

 

Fifteen minutes later, both Winchesters fully dressed, they’re sitting in Kate’s office. Dean lines the doorway and windows with salt while Sam taps away at the laptop.

Gunny’s hands are shaking as he takes the beer Kate offers him. “I didn’t know,” he says, looking up at her, face pale. “I didn’t think…”

“I know,” Kate says, sitting down next to him on the filing cabinet.

He slumps forward, elbows to knees, and rests his forehead on his free hand. “I didn’t know he’d killed himself.”

“You never even tried to talk to the guy after you loved him and left him?” Dean asks.

Charlie smacks him on the arm. “Like you’ve never done that.”

Dean tilts his head, conceding the point. Gunny shakes his head. “It was just a weekend, you know? Me and Simon’d just come down from working a job in Wyoming. Just looking to cut loose a bit. Wasn’t a whole lot of places to go back then.”

“Pre-Brokeback,” Charlie interrupts.

Josh looked up. “Yeah. That fucking movie. Pardon my language.” He shakes his head. 

Sam looks up from the laptop. “Can you spell his last name? I think I have it wrong.”

Josh just spreads his hands. “I’m surprised I remembered it at all. I might be wrong. But it was something like that. Something Polish sounding. Something like. Pulaski, Wikowski. Something.”

Dean flicks the keys to the Impala around his fingers. “Does it really matter what happened? We just need to find the grave, dig him up, salt and burn, and it’s over.”

Sam nods his head in agreement from behind the laptop. “Shouldn’t take long.” 

“But he’s dead because of me,” John says, shakily.

Kate’s expression is pained as she gently rubs Josh’s back. 

Josh sighs. “I should have –“

Dean cuts him off. “You can’t go there, man. Trust me.” He looks back at Josh’s pale face, shaken by the thought that he was even indirectly responsible for someone’s death, and remembers poor Madison and Sam’s face when he pulled the trigger. He reaches out a hand to gently grip the back of Sam’s neck. Sam closes his eyes and leans his head into Dean’s touch. “We know. Trust me, we know.”

“A-ha!” Charlie exclaims, looking up from her phone. “Could it be Eddie Wolenski? Was 22 in 1994?”

Josh nods, “Yeah, yeah. That was his name.” He shakes his head. “Twenty-two. Jesus. I was a fool.”

“You couldn’t have known, Josh.” She tries to meet his eyes. “You couldn’t know the guy would kill himself over a weekend.”

Josh looks up at Dean. Dean can see the embarrassment in his eyes and knows there’s more to the story than just a mindless roll in the hay. Once again, Dean and Sam are going to hear a confession from someone looking for absolution. Well, he’s just going to have to look somewhere else. Dean’s not one to judge, but he can’t absolve someone else of their sins either.

Josh finishes his beer, runs his fingers through his hair, and sighs.

Dean looks over at Sam, who nods. He’s got the info they need. He pushes back from the desk, but Dean tilts his head towards Gunny, who inhales and straightens up in his seat. 

Sam relaxes a bit. He knows as well as Dean that Gunny needs to get it out. Better to get it over with now. When the silence stretches longer than two breaths, Sam looks at his watch and prompts Gunny. It’s been a hell of a day and he just wants to get this over with. “So what happened?”

Josh won’t meet his eyes. “I think…I know, I was kind of a dick to him. It was fun, back then. Me and Simon, my friend, would see how many guys we could hook up with. Or even just, well, you know.” He looks up at Dean. 

Dean nods. Yeah, he knows.

Josh stands, crossing to the little fridge. “I barely remember this guy. I think Eddie came to hotel, looking for me. I don’t know he found me, I’d never even told him my real name. So, anyway, Simon was walking out to the vending machine to get us some food. He was pretty near naked.” Josh pulls out another beer. “He came back and yelled into the room that one of my twinks was here for. I didn’t know. I mean, I thought he was joking, so I asked ‘which one?’ I think I said something about not being able to keep them straight. Simon, Simon said something about none of them staying straight around me.” He looks up at Dean with the ghost of a smile.

Dean makes a _get on with it_ hand motion. Time is a’wasting. Sam stand up, closes the laptop. 

Josh drops his eyes. “So. Anyway. Then I saw it was Eddie, and he sees me, you know, in the bed. And looked like I’d killed his puppy. I felt like shit, but I had no idea he was so attached. I mean, he knew I was leaving. I never said it was more than the weekend. He was so mad, I didn’t even get to talk to him. He just ran away. And then Simon and I had to move on. We had a ride in Omaha in a couple of days. I didn’t know what had happened. I didn’t even particularly think about him. He was just another guy.”

His face begs them not to judge him. But Sam and Dean are not ones to through stones anymore. Dean had his share of meaningless hook-ups years ago, and everyone knows they’ve made decisions so poor it makes Gunny look like Solomon. 

“Ready?” Sam asks. 

Dean nods. “You know where we’re going?”

“Yeah. Cemetery on the edge of town. Small one.”

 

The sky is the light gray that comes before the dawn when they coast into the parking lot. Dean shuts off the car, but neither of them moves to get out. Sam’s head is slumped against the window, legs spayed open like it’s too much effort to close them. Dean slides down, wedging his knees against the wheel. “Let’s just sleep here,” he suggests. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d slept in the Impala by a long shot.

Sam murmurs his agreement. 

Dean is halfway to sleep, replaying the satisfying whoosh of flames as the ghost of Eddie Wolenski was laid to rest, when he feels Sam slump against him. He butts his head against Dean’s arm until Dean lifts it over his shoulder. Sam somehow manages to twist his giant body until he’s sitting tucked up against Dean’s side, one arm between Dean’s back and the seat, his face pressed into Dean’s neck. Dean feels the hot breath on his neck and suddenly he’s a little more awake.

Sam must register the change in Dean’s breathing, because Dean feels the soft, warm barely-there touch of Sam’s lips on his neck. Dean exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding and rolls neck to give Sam better access.

Sam kisses gently, so gently, on Dean’s neck. Up and down, as his hand rubs soothingly on Dean’s thigh. It’s almost mesmerizing, and Dean curls his fingers into Sam’s hair. Sam presses deeper into Dean’s neck, and he opens his mouth over the pulse point and bites down, worrying the skin between his teeth. The pleasure spikes between Dean’s legs and he arches against the seat. Sam chuckles against his skin and does it again. _Bastard._

Dean pulls Sam off of him by the hair. “Sam,” he says warningly. Sam’s eyes are dark and glittering. And Dean wants. He wants to talk it out, he wants to push Sam back into the leather of the seat and climb on top of him, he wants to get out of the car and run away, he wants to see Sam fall apart under his mouth and hands, and he wants to pull Sam back against him, put the car in gear and drive to where no one will ever find them. 

He realizes he’s shaking Sam’s head back and forth in time with own. “I can’t, Sam,” he gets out, voice thick, and Sam starts to pull back. Dean holds him firmly by the hair. “Let me finish. I can’t do this casually.” Sam snorts a harsh laugh. Dean yanks at the hair in his hand. “I’m serious. I can’t just be…brothers with benefits.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he bites his lip, but it’s no good. He can’t hold back the laughter. He’s exhausted and covered in dead guy dust, and he really, really wants to get his hands on Dean like now. He can’t breath from laughing. Dean’s looking murder at him and all he can force out is “brothers with benefits?” and a fresh bout of laughter.

“Asshole,” Dean growls, and he surges up and over Sam, pushing him awkwardly against the door. His mouth crashes down on Sam’s and he swallows Sam’s laughter. Sam moans as Dean nips at his lip, brushes their lips together over and over, and slides his tongue along Sam’s so sweetly Sam can only moan.

When Sam is reduced to a panting mess, hands clenched around Dean’s shoulders, Dean pulls back. Because he’s a sadistic bastard like that. “I’m serious,” he repeats. “Don’t…don’t do this,” he says, looking down where their bodies are pressed together. “Don’t let me do this if you’re just gonna…if you’re gonna…”

He trails off, resting his forehead against Sam’s. And Sam knows what Dean can’t say. He tilts his head up, pressing soft kisses on Dean’s lips, his chin, his cheeks. “When has anything between us ever been casual, Dean?” Sam can feel Dean’s eyebrows rise in acknowledgement of that simple truth. He gets a hand between them and pushes Dean up gently so he can look him in the eyes. Dean has to believe him. “I’m not leaving, okay?”

Dean doesn’t look convinced. 

“I swear. I never left _you_.” He laughs sadly at Dean’s skeptical look. “Never, Dean. I ran from the life, from Dad, from myself. Mostly myself. But I’ve…” He stops, looks away. Why is this so hard? Why is it so goddamn hard for the Winchesters to say one simple fucking word? He’s screamed it in his mind so many, many times. It’s been woven into him his whole life and he can’t seem to say it out loud. Can’t trust that it won’t drive Dean away.

“Sammy?” Dean asks, voice soft and rough.

Sam inhales and tries again. “I…since I can remember. Since always.” He meets Dean’s eyes again. “It’s always been you.”

Dean exhales, a long shuddering breath, hearing everything unsaid. “Yeah. Yeah, Sammy. I know. Me, too. I’m fucking in love with you, okay?” He shakes his head and laughs. “Took me long enough to realize it.”

“What was it?” Sam asks, shifting on his elbows into a marginally more comfortable position.

Dean shrugs, settling himself sideways between Sam’s legs, hands trailing over Sam’s chest, sliding under his collar, up his neck and into his hair. “Don’t know.” His fingers move brazenly under the waistband of Sam’s jeans. Sam inhales sharply, and they both watch as Dean sweeps his fingertips across the soft skin there. “What made you realize you were warm for my form?” He waggles his eyebrows and smirks in a way that should be cheesy and off-putting but is so Dean, so pre-purgatory, pre-hell, pre-apocalypse Dean, that Sam can’t help but draw him in for a long, deep kiss. 

One kiss turns into a string of kisses and roaming hands and moans, and if the car were just a bit bigger, Sam thinks they’d be rounding third about now. As it is, he’s hard as rock, and can’t stop dragging his hips against Dean’s side. He can feel Dean’s hard length against the inside of his thigh.

The windows are completely fogged over, but Sam get tell it’s getting lighter outside. The sun must be coming up. A sharp knock at the glass startles them. Dean pulls away from Sam with a lurch, smacking his head on the ceiling. “Son of a bitch,” he complains, rubbing at the bruise.

“Hey in there.” It’s Charlie’s voice. Thank god. Charlie, who knew before either of them where they were headed. 

“Just a second,” Sam calls out, hoping Charlie has the good sense not to open the door.

They pull themselves together and stumble out of the car, blinking in the pale sunrise. Charlie struggles to hold back a laugh. “Hey,” she repeats.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks. Dean just glares at her. 

“Great,” she answers. “Everything go good on your end?” She gives the fogged windows a pointed glance. “I’m guessing _everything_ is good?”

“Be better if we were alone,” Dean suggests. 

Sam rolls his eyes but he can’t really argue.

“Yeah, about that,” Charley drawls out. “It’s getting a little bright out here, and as much as some people would pay to watch you guys getting’ jiggy with it, I think you might want to…” and she makes a shooing gesture with her hands. “Move on home. Kate refilled your water tanks, and started the propane heater. She figured you’d want hot showers. And I put a thermos of coffee in the trailer.”

Dean swoops her up in a big hug. “You two are goddesses. May you grow old together surrounded by cats, and flannel, and Indigo Girls CDs.” 

She punches him on the shoulder. “Idiot. Put me down.”

“Your wish is my command, Highness.” He lowers to the ground, but doesn’t let go completely. He leans in and kisses her gently on the cheek. “Seriously, Charlie. Thank you. Thanks for everything. You’re a brave, brave lady.”

Sam rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just. Thanks. Thanks for, well, everything.”

She waves them away. “De nada. Now go. Shower. You stink. And try at get _some_ rest. It’s rodeo time and me and you guys have some goats to wrestle tonight.” She stretches up on tiptop to give each of them a kiss on the cheek, and then bounces away, red hair shining in the sun.

Dean shakes his head. “We owe her, like, a pony or something. A fruit basket?”

“A ‘thank you for helping me bang my brother’ fruit basket?” Sam asks.

“It sounds so dirty when you say it like that, Sam.” Dean punches him on the arm. “I like it. Besides.” He crowds into Sam’s personal space, pushing him back against the side of the Impala. “There seems to be a singular lack of banging, wouldn’t you say?” Dean groans as their bodies push against each other.

“Fuck yeah,” Sam sigh. “Let’s go fix that.” He drags Dean to the trailer by the wrist.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which sex is finally had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything gets wrapped up nice and tidy in the next chapter. I promise.

Dean comes back to the waking world one sense at a time. 

The chirping of birds and the noise of people going about their day blends slowly with the dream fading from his mind even as he tries to remember it. He thinks it was a good one. 

The sun pours through the curtains, pushing red against his eyelids and painting stripes of gold across Sam’s body where it lays stretched out across the bed. Dean rolls onto his side to get a better view, and the warm air that slips out as the blanket lifts smells like clean sweat, and soap, and a sweetness that has meant home, safety, and Sam for as long as Dean can remember. 

Sam shifts in his sleep, pressing his face deeper into the pillow with a grumble. He hitches sideways, moving hips, then shoulders, until he’s snugged up against Dean. With a contented sigh, he slips back into a deeper sleep. 

Dean smiles, laying a kiss on the back of Sam’s head. His hair smells like coconut and cut grass from that shampoo he always uses. Dean closes his eyes and slides his fingers through the silky strands; gentle in a way he would never be if Sam were awake.

The last remnants of sleep are falling away, and now Dean has to touch, to feel that sleep-warmed, sun-dappled skin spread out like an offering in front of him. He leans over, hand sliding across the dips and swells of Sam’s muscles. He kisses the shoulder nearest him, tasting Sam’s skin. 

“Sam. Sa-am,” he whispers, mouthing across all the skin he can reach. He’s up, Sam should be up. Just makes sense. Last night, this morning, whatever, Dean had called first shower. He’d blessed Kate again as the warm water hit his aching muscles. It felt so good, he’d actually fallen asleep standing up in the shower. By the time he dragged himself out of the bathroom, Sam was asleep hunched awkwardly over the table. Dean had kicked him awake and possibly fallen asleep while walking to the bed. He has no actual memory of getting into bed.

But now he was rested and his body was rapidly reminding him that certain very important business from last night had been left unfinished. Time and past time to remedy that. Now that Dean knew Sam was up for it, _heh, up for it_ , Dean’s mental list of _things I want to do to Sam_ was growing longer by the minute.

Speaking of things that were growing longer, Dean rolls his hips against Sam’s side, hitching his leg over Sam’s to get even closer. He slides his hand down Sam’s back, scraping his fingernails along the skin on the way up. Sam makes a pleased murmur and his skin twitches beneath Dean’s nails, but he doesn’t wake up.

So much for Sam’s purported cat-like reflexes.

And so much for subtlety. It’s time for the tried and true. Dean flicks Sam’s earlobe with his index finger. “Sam,” he barks. He sees Sam’s shoulders rise as Sam slowly turns lifts up just far enough turn his head towards Dean without moving the rest of his body. He blinks heavily and his face it too close for Dean to get a good read on what he might be thinking.

This moment is where the danger lies. This is where it could go wrong, in the hot light of day, not drunk, not coming down from the adrenaline rush of a hunt. Dean is hyperconscious of the skin on his inner thigh where it rests heavily on Sam’s leg, and the soft, slow grind of his hips against Sam’s side. 

Then Sam smiles. “Jerk.”

Relief spreads like light through Dean’s chest, and he can’t not smile back. “Bitch,” he replies. “You love me.” _Oops._ Dean freezes.

Sammy’s eyes darken, and he reaches out to grab Dean’s thigh. He shifts onto his side and slowly rolls them over until he’s on his back with Dean balanced on top of him. “Yeah, I do.” He spreads his legs and Dean sinks between them. “And you do, too,” Sam smirks, sliding one hand down the back of Dean’s boxers and pulling Dean’s mouth to his with the other.

Dean’s sure he been thinking something as Sammy rolled underneath him, something about maybe they shouldn’t do this, something about brothers, but he’ll be damned if he can think anything right now beyond _more_ and _good_ , and, as Sam shoves his hips up hard, _fuck, Sammy is a big boy._

He groans against Sam’s mouth and Sam slips in like he owns the space.

Dean decides not to think anymore. He wants this, Sam sure seems to want this. So why is he pulling away _again_ from the heaven of Sam’s mouth? “Sammy,” he starts to say.

Sam groans, and manages to rolls his eyes at Dean and grab his ass at the same time. He grinds their bodies together so the hard lines of their cocks roll and slide against each other. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Dean, just…” Sam lifts up off the bed, shoving and pushing Dean, kissing him and biting wherever he can reach. 

All Dean can do is hold on for the ride. When Sam finally pulls away, panting, he rests his hands on Dean’s shoulders, and his forehead against Dean’s. They’re kneeling precariously on the bed facing each other. “Dean,” he whispers, sliding a hand down between them. “You want this, right?” 

Dean figures the way he shudders when Sam wraps his long fingers around his cock, and the way he digs his fingers into the skin of Sam’s hips, is answer enough, but Sammy isn’t letting him off the hook. “Dean,” he drawls, sliding his slowly up and down.

“Jesus,” Dean breathes out. He looks down at where they are touching, mesmerized by the sight. “God, yeah, I want it. He looks back up Sam. “But it’s kind of fucked up, Sammy.”

Sam’s laugh is half-amused, half-incredulous. “Our lives are pretty fucked up, De. But you, this, it’s the best part of it.” 

Dean can barely stand the look in Sam’s eyes. It’s too much, so much more intimate than the hand on his dick. He leans in and kisses Sam. 

The way they fit when they kiss takes Dean’s breath away. Even on their knees, Sam is taller, and Dean has to tilt his head up to reach. What kissing Sam does to Dean is more than Sam’s hand on the back of his head, holding him just where he needs; more than Sam’s arm wrapped around Dean’s back, steadying them. The slick slide of lips, the taste of them together, the nipping and quiet gasps, it’s all secondary to the fact that it is Sam. Sam, who Dean has always loved and apparently is in love with, and who, apparently, feels the same.

It’s awesome.

Sam breaks away with a gasp. “Bed. Down. Now.” He pushes as Dean’s shoulders and down he goes. As Sam drops over him, catching himself on his hands, Dean promises himself they’re going to have a talk about all this manhandling. Later. Maybe. Because by the way Sam is kissing and biting his way down Dean’s body like he’s covered in chocolate, Dean has a feeling they won’t be talking about anything in the near future.  
A trembling starts in his legs and his breath is tight. Though it’s only been two days – two days – since Charlie forced him to confront this, it feels like he’s been waiting for this moment for forever. By the way Sam’s shoulders are heaving and shuddering under Dean’s hands, Sam feels it, too. Dean sucks in a breath as Sam’s teeth clamp down on his hip bone. Sam’s hair falls silky and soft across his abdomen, just barely brushing against the tip of his cock, and he wonders briefly how pissed Sam would be if he came in his hair. He can’t take much more right now.

He feels Sam’s lips and tongue, soft and hot, on his skin, and then Sam turns his head, resting his cheek on the crease of Dean’s thigh. Dean loves the way Sam’s stubble scrapes against his skin. His hands slide under Dean, pulling their bodies tightly together. “Don’t leave me again,” Sam says softly.

Dean covers his face with one hand, gently rubs the other across Sam’s cheeks, stubble and soft skin, and knows he can never again be like this with someone who isn’t Sam. Knows it has _never_ been like this. “I won’t,” he promises, as if he’d ever left Sam on purpose. As if he’d ever had a choice. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Sam says. He bites Dean’s hip sharply, then shifts until he’s got one of Dean’s legs over his shoulder and he’s pulling Dean’s cock away from his body towards his mouth. Dean pulls the hand away from his face and looks down. Sam is staring up at him, eyes dark, the tip of Dean’s dick resting on his bottom lip.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes. It turns into a groan when Sam slides his mouth over and down with a smirk. Dean’s eyes roll back in his head beneath his closed eyelids. _Jesus_ , Sammy’s mouth is heaven. Sam has him pinned, Dean can barely move, can’t thrust up the way he wants to. The bastard is teasing him. He switches between licking Dean like a lollipop and trying to suck Dean’s brains out through his cock. The way his cheeks hollow should be illegal. The fact that he’s Dean’s brother probably makes it illegal. 

Dean got a pretty steady stream of profanity and taking of the lord’s name in vain going on as Sam uses his miracle of a mouth on him. Sam’s fingers dig into the flesh of Dean’s thighs with the perfect amount of pressure. God, Dean is so close. Fucking finally.

Then Sam pulls off with a pop.

 _What_? Dean can barely process it, body trembling on the edge, brain all happy and glowey. 

All this fucking foreplay and waiting and he wants to tease _now_? “Sammy, god, come on man.” 

Sam just slides off slowly and shakes his head, lips ghosting over the tip. “I don’t know, Dean. Don’t want to rush it.” 

“Sam,” threatens. Okay, threatens, begs, whatever.

Sam licks the flat of his tongue around Dean’s cock. 

“Bastard,” Dean curses and grabs Sam’s head with both hands and pushes it down further on his dick. Sam’s eyes are wide and surprised when he looks up to meet Dean’s look. “Sammy, I love you. But if you don’t suck my dick I am going to kill you and then I’m going to kill whoever taught you how to do that.”

For once in his life, Sam listens to Dean and shuts his mouth around Dean’s cock. Dean sighs, but keeps his hold on Sam’s head. He slides his leg off of Sam, wincing a bit at the ache in his hip. Sam breathes heavily as Dean rolls his hips and thrusts gently but steadily into Sam’s mouth. 

_Yeah, oh, yeah_ , Dean thinks as he feels the beginning of his orgasm start to swell and roll across his body. Sam is moaning almost as constantly as Dean, and his shoulder lifts as he shifts to move one hand down to his own neglected cock. Suddenly Dean wants desperately to see Sam’s face. 

“Come on, come on,” he pants, dragging Sam up his body, hands under his arms, behind his perfect ass, pulling him up. Then they’re face to face and their bodies crush together as Sam drops his full weight onto Dean with a groan. They’re kissing like it’s the first time they’ve kissed, like it’s the last time they’ll see each other. And Sam is just driving into Dean, slipping through the slickness between their bodies. Dean clutches Sam’s ass, urging him on, harder, muscles bunching under his hands, feet flat on the bed as he pushes up.

The trailer rocks on its jack stands and Dean takes a second to pray they hold out as Sam pushes up and away. Before Dean can even think to object, Sam’s got his spit-slicked hand wrapped around both of them. His head drops down between his shoulders, sweat rolling down his temples. “Fuck, Dean.” He sounds desperate, hand flying fast and hard and just on the right side of painful.

“Come on, Sammy, come on,” Dean urges, caught up as much in Sam’s face - teeth bared, eyes screwed shut - as the feel of the monster orgasm pressing urgently against his spine, his balls, the base of his impossibly hard cock.

“Wanted…wanted to…shit…” Sam curses. Dean can feel the trembling of the rock-hard muscles of Sam’s arms and legs where they’re clamped around him.

“What? What did you want?” _Anything, anything._ Dean will give him anything, the Impala, his gun, a two-hour blow job, if he Just. Doesn’t. Fucking. _Stop_.

Sam can only grunt, sounds forced out between clenched teeth. Dean’s fingers slip on the sweat of Sam’s skin. He grasps, unwilling to let go, and his fingers slide down between Sam’s cheeks, quick drag of a fingertip over the hidden opening, and Sam comes with a hoarse shout of Dean’s name.

The clench of muscle around his hand, the hot liquid spill of Sam over his body, and the fucking _amazing_ sounds Sam makes as he comes pushes Dean over the edge. It hits like a freight train, locking up his muscles, arching his back, and he shoots up hard and fast between them.

After an eternity, Sam collapses onto of him with a harsh exhale. “Jesus. Holy shit, Dean.”

Dean gives a shaky laugh, pats weakly at Sam’s hair. “Yeah. Shit. Yeah.”

They lay there, catching their breaths, feeling each other’s heart beat, their chest moving up and down with each breath. Alive, both alive and together. The breeze through the screen is sweet with the smell of sun on dry grass. Dean can hear the faint sound of cheering coming across the field.

Sam rolls off with a grimace as their skin peels apart. “That was…awesome.” He lays next to Dean, cradled in Dean’s arm.

Dean laughs. “Oh yeah.”

Sam runs his hands reverently down Dean’s body, and Dean could get used to this. “I just wanted to, you know, make it last.”

“Fifteen hours of foreplay not enough for you?”

Sam huffs out a laughs and nods. “Still, I had plans.”

Dean rolls over until they are face to face. He pulls Sam down for a long, sweet kiss. He move his mouth to Sam’s neck, kissing up it until he reaches Sam’s ear. He says quietly, for Sam’s ears only, “Baby boy, we are in the middle of a field in the middle of the day with nothing between us and the civilians but fly screens and tin. When we get back to the bunker, we can take all day, all night. I promise to make you scream. But right now..” He pulls back, motioning out the window with a tilt of a head. The sounds are louder now, and they can both make out the muffled roars of a loudspeaker. “Right now, we have a rodeo to join, cowboy.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are goat, steers, hugs, and an ending.

Sam blinks at the bright sun as they step out of the trailer. There are more people and horses and dogs around than Sam expected. And some of them are a lot closer to the trailer than he’s happy about. He hopes they were at least a little discreet. The roping instructor from yesterday is sitting at a picnic table not far from them talking to another woman. The screen door slams as Dean comes out and she looks over. She sees Sam looking at her gives him the thumbs up, with an obvious leer. The other woman laughs and says something he can’t make out. Dean obviously can though. He calls back to them, “Way longer than 8 seconds, baby.” And Sam blushes to the top of his ears. Dean just laughs and drags him into the crowd.

The rodeo is in full swing as they head over to the arena. It’s a nice-sized event, with food stalls and vendors, and a decent crowd of people going in and out of the arena.

Sam watches Dean buy them bratwurst and beer from a huge guy in a silver dress whose powder-blue goatee matches his elaborate eye shadow. Dean complements him on his accessorizing and the guy laughs. 

Sam lets Dean get a little ahead of him, watching his walk. He’s always known Dean was beautiful, but seeing him now like this, all relaxed, strolling through the crowd with his ‘I just got laid’ saunter and knowing he was the one that put it there, makes Sam want to drag him right back into the trailer. 

A skinny guy all in pink and black silk passes him leading his equally decked out horse. The horse’s saddle is covered with more straps and leather loops than Sam thinks is normal. Dean elbows him in the side, and Sam mentally shakes he head, waiting for the comment.

“Talk about blazing saddles,” Dean murmurs behind his beer.

Sam rolls his eyes and kicks him lightly in the shin. It’s easy, familiar, this banter, and Sam’s so grateful that they haven’t screwed this up. He’d give up fucking Dean, somehow, if he had to, if things got awkward and weird. But he really, really doesn’t want to. His mind drifts back to the look on Dean’s face when he came, and the promises he’d whispered into Sam’s ear, and he wonders how sound proof the rooms in the arena are. Like Kate’s office for instance. _Somebody around here must have lube_ he thinks. 

He’s pulled out of his reverie by another elbow to the ribs. He sees Dean trying to talk and shove the last bit of bratwurst in his mouth at the same time. “Over there,” he mumbles, pointing.

The man in pink is now in a ring with two girls, one dressed in a Wonder-Woman outfit, the other in a green and blue ocean patterned leotard. Wonder-Woman swings up on her horse and proceeds to canter around the ring. As they watch, she calmly slips off the side of the saddle, legs extended in the air, head down. She does trick after trick on the saddle while the horse keeps up its smooth gait. Handstands, hanging down off the back, the side, under the horse’s neck, and Sam is seriously impressed. The other two riders check their gear and talk quietly together.

Dean is hooked, and he walks over the fence, Sam following. “Do you mind?” he asks the two riders. The girl shakes her head. “Not a bit. It’s just practice though. The real thing is later.” 

“It’s amazing,” Dean says, his eyes are wide and a little boy smile on his face. Wonder woman trots over standing straight up on the horse’s back and comes to a stop in front of them. “Awesome,” Dean says, smiling not at the woman but at Sam. 

_Awesome,_ Sam agrees, looking at Dean. Some of what he’s thinking must show on his face, because Dean’s expression goes soft and heated. He reaches out and hooks his hand into Sam’s front pocket, pulling him close.

That’s where Charlie finds them; Dean leaning against the fence, foot up on the bottom rail, raptly watching the trick riders, Sam pressed up against his back, hand deep in the back pocket of Dean’s jeans.

“Hey,” she says as she slams against the fence, making the top rail rattle. She’s wearing a black and blue plaid shirt with white pearl buttons, a black hat with a white band, and her jeans are tucked into a pair of black and white cowhide boots.

“Hey yourself, Calamity Jane.” Dean answers, sliding over to make room for Charlie on his other side. They watch the riders take turns practicing. “Can you do that?” Dean asks.

“No,” Charlie laughs. “I just sit like a normal person.” She turns her back to the ring, resting her elbows on the top rail. “So we didn’t really talk this morning.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively at them. “But I take it all went well last night?”

Dean nods. Sam slides a little away from him, tries to surreptitiously remove his hand from Dean’s pocket. He knows Charlie is, theoretically, okay with them. Dean has assured him not only was on board with it, but she had actively encouraged him. Still felt weird, even if she had caught them in the car.

“Was it the guy? Gunny’s guy?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “He was young, poor guy, only 22.”

Charlie shakes her head. “Sucks, dude.” She pushes up from the fence. “And on that happy note, come watch me ride. Join the rodeo.” She points at Sam, “Janna signed you up for the roping exhibition. Said you were the best in class.” She stride away quickly and they have to job to catch up to her.

 

The rodeo turns out to be a ton fun. They’d caught parts of a few over the years, on cases, but they’d never really got to enjoy it, let alone participate.

Charlie places in the barrel racing, losing out to twin eighteen-year olds from Texas who come in first and second. Dean declines Gunny’s invitation to try out a real bull ride, saying he prefers to make a fool out of himself less publicly. Kate _owns_ the chute dogging; wrestling the young steer to the ground with a skill and strength that make Sam think she’d be a hell of a hunter. Even Dean is impressed, whistling through his teeth when she wins.

When it’s Sam’s turn to join the roping exhibition in a side ring, he surprises them all with his skill. He hits every target, even getting the rope over the confused calf trotting slowly around the ring. No one cheers louder than Dean. He’s pointing at Sam and telling everyone within earshot that Sam is his boy. When Sam exits the ring with a smile he can’t seem to hold back, Dean grabs him and hauls him in for a long kiss that is quickly in danger of slipping into PG-13 territory. 

Sam is blushing and panting and really hoping his pants are baggy enough to cover his raging hard-on when they break apart. It hits him that the freedom to be like this is public is going to be rare in their lives, even discounting the whole incest thing. Lots of people in the real world aren’t going to be as accepting of two grown men kissing in public. He realizes again how special this space is, how needed this safe world is. It’s a place people have carved out for themselves, a place where they can let down some of the guards they carry with them every day.

The warm smiles and friendly nods they get from random people in the crowd fills a hole in his heart he hadn’t realized was there. He loves being alone with Dean, he’s spent most of his life that way, and he knows their lives are solitary by necessity, but he realizes he’s missed this. It’s been year since he’s felt this generalized group acceptance that allows you to keep to yourself and just watch people, or join in the conversation and fun as you see fit. It reminds him of college. Everyone was so different, but they were all there for the same basic reasons, doing the same things. It is an automatic, comfortable recognition of shared circumstances, and Sam relaxes into it. 

Dean also looks relaxed. Of course he does. A crowd is a crowd for Dean, and he’s been working them since he was a kid. He flirts with every one they pass, young, old, man, women, and indeterminate.

As the sun starts to set, and the families with small children start packing up their minivans to leave, more beer flows and the place gets a little louder. In the middle of the arena, ten really, really in shape guys do a choreographed routine to a song that Sam assumes is called “Cowboy Up” based solely on how many times the phrase is repeated. It’s pretty hot.

The MC announces its time for the goat dressing teams to report back stage. “That’s us, guys, let’s go,” Charlie states. She grabs Dean by the arm and pulls him away. 

Dean looks over his shoulder at Sam and mouths ‘help me’. 

Sam just laughs and shares a look with Kate. “They really must never be left alone together,” she comments as they follow more sedately. “Don’t I know it,” is Sam’s heartfelt answer.

When Dean learns the teams are to be him and Charlie against Kate and Sam, he waves his white granny panties in Sam’s face. “You are going down, dude. You are so gonna lose.”

Sam snatches them out of Dean’s hands. “In your dreams.” He stretches the elastic waistband between his thumbs and snaps the underwear back in Dean’s face.

Dean catches them one-handed and smirks at Sam, “Oh. That’s right. I forgot about all the experience you have putting on granny panties.” 

“Oh burn,” Charlie laughs. She and Dean share a high five.

Kate surprises Sam by stepping up to Charlie with a challenge in her eyes. “Yeah? Want to make it interesting, tenderfoot? A bet?”

Charlie raises her eyebrows. “A bet?”

“For them.” Kate motions between Sam and Dean.

Charlie nods slowly. “I’m listening.”

Kate tilts her head for Charlie to move away from the two men. She walks over to Kate and they share a whispered huddle. When Charlie barks out a laugh and slaps a hand over her mouth, Dean and Sam share a look.

“This can’t be good,” Sam says. Dean shakes his head in agreement.

Charlie skips back and holds both their hands and gives them the puppy dog eyes. “Trust me?” she asks with a grin.

“With my life,” Sam answers, the same time Dean says, “Not as far as I can throw you.” 

“Excellent,” she answers, clapping her hands together. “Let’s go.” 

Dean holds up the panties. “Hey, wait a second. What are the rules?”

“Easy peasy.” She grabs the panties, spinning them on her forefinger. “Run to the goat. Grab the goat. Put panties on the goat. Run back. Fastest team wins.”

Dean scoffs. “No problem.” He points at Sam again. “You’re going down.” 

Sam just nods. “Okay, Dean.”

They’re given numbers and Dean and Charlie are in line to go before Sam and Kate. Just as the team before them is finishing up, Sam grabs Dean and kisses the breath out of him. A few well-placed gropes and Dean is right on board. But then something goes wrong with Sam’s plan to distract Dean, and he finds himself pushed up against the wall, Dean grinding hard and dirty against him, and Sam kind of forgets what he was supposed to be doing. He hears cheer and the announcer saying something. Charlie’s face swims into view in his peripheral vision. She taps Dean on the shoulder. “We’re up.”

Dean reaches down and presses his palm hard between Sam’s legs. “Gotta go, Sammy.” His grin is lethal.

 _Fucker,_ Sam thinks, reaching down to adjust himself. But as he watches Dean and Charlie whooping and cheering for each other, he can’t really be mad at being beaten at his own game.

 

He reconsiders that thought two hours later as, dressed in a red sequined evening down that doesn’t really fit at all, he balances precariously on top of a very reluctant steer. Dean pulls on the halter attached at the head, and Charlie pushes from behind as the crowd hoots and hollers. Sam’s job is just to stay on. It’s harder than it looks, and it looks pretty hard.

There’s a lot of cursing from Dean and Sam, and laughter from Charlie. The steer comes to a sudden and unexpected stop and Sam almost goes over its head, Dean throws up his hands to stop him, and when he straightens up, Sam’s falsies are stuck to his hands, and that’s all she wrote. Charlie laughs so hard, Sam is afraid she’s going to pull something. Dean can’t even make a sound, just stands there, hands on his knees, gasping for air. The steers shudders like a dog shaking off water and Sam goes flying into the dirt and it’s game over. They let the professionals deal with the steer and drag themselves off the sand. A team of two guys and a woman all dressed like the Power Puff girls emerges the winners. 

The official rodeo events are over, and the crowds straggle towards the door. Sam and Dean follow Kate and Charlie out, Sam still in his evening gown, now mostly shreds barely covering enough for decency. Gunny’s sitting on the steps. He stands up when he sees them. 

“Howdy,” he greets them. “Nice roping,” he says to Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam says, gathering the ripped pieces of dress to himself. “I’m just to go, ah, change. Dean?”

He looks at Gunny, back to Sam. “I’ll be right there, just give me a minute, okay?”

Sam looks back and forth between them, nods. “Sure, sure Dean. See you back at the trailer?”

He looks hesitant, unsure, and it tugs at Dean. He gently grabs Sam’s arm as he turns to go. “Hey.” When Sam stops, Dean pulls him in for a short but strong kiss. Sam is smiling and licking his lips when Dean pulls off. That’s a win in Dean’s book. “Ten minutes, okay?”

Sam’s nod is more sure this time. “Yeah, whatever you need.” He turns to Kate and Charlie who are standing with their arms around each other in quiet conversation. “Ladies?” 

Kate turns towards them, arm still around Charlie. “You boys leaving in the morning?”

Dean and Sam exchange glances. “Yeah,” Dean answers. “That’s the plan. Charlie?”

Charlie leans her head on Kate’s shoulder. “I think I’m going to hang out with Kate for a while.”

Dean’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Awesome. You deserve some time off.”

There’s a flurry of goodbyes and Kate surprises Sam with the strength of her hug. “I’m really happy for you boys,” she whispers in his ear.

“Really?” Sam asks. “You don’t…I mean…most people would be running screaming. Or calling the police or something.”

Kate just shakes her head. “From what I’ve seen this past coupla days, and from what little Charlie’s told me, I don’t think the normal rules apply to you two. And I think you more than deserve some happiness.”

Sam can’t help it, he hugs her again. “Thank you, for everything.”

Kate laughs. “No, thank you. You and Dean both. You saved lives here. But from what Charlie tells me, that’s all in a day’s work for you.”

Dean overhears the last part and tips his hat to Kate. “Happy to oblige, ma’am.”

Charlie tugs Kate away from the group. “Don’t wake us up when you leave.” She practically skips away from them. “Hasta la vista, bitches,” she throws over her shoulder.

Sam looks between Dean and Gunny. “I think that’s my cue.” He shakes hands with Gunny. “Josh, if we don’t see you in the morning, it was nice meeting you.”

“Pleasure was all mine, Sam. Thank you. From what I hear, you guys are kind of legends in the world of spooky stuff.” Gunny’s eyes are twinkling and Sam has a sinking feeling he knows what’s coming. Josh plows ahead. “Charlie tells me there are some books?”

Dean and Sam groan. “I will kill her,” Dean swears. “Little sister or not.”

Sam kisses Dean on the cheek and, of all the things they’ve done this week, that’s the thing that makes him blush, and rub the back of his neck with his hand. Sam laughs. “Goodnight. Dean, don’t take too long.”

“Yes, dear,” Dean calls to his retreating back. Somehow Sam manages to stride in a gown and Dean takes a moment to admire the muscles of Sam’s back and legs. Gunny clears his throat and Dean turns back to him.

“So,” Josh says.

“So,” Dean echoes. Confession time again. He can hear it in Josh’s voice, see it in his eyes.

Gunny motions for Dean to follow him and he walks down the steps, away from the lights. Some things are just easier to say in the dark. “You know, when I saw that hat, that one on your bed. I just…” he trails off.

“Yeah, I figured,” Dean answers. 

“I just didn’t think it could be. I mean, it’s crazy. How could I even really remember a hat from twenty years ago? And ghosts?” 

Dean can hear him rationalizing it all away even as he’s talking about it. He knows Gunny will do his best to forget any of this even happened.

Josh winds down with another thanks and a promise to let Dean know when they’re back in town. Dean knows he won’t; knows even Kate will be lucky to hear from Josh again.

They shake hands, then Gunny smiles and pulls him in for a hug. It’s nice, but Sam’s waiting and Dean is impatient. Already everybody else is fading away as another case comes to an end, and more good people move back out of Dean’s orbit. Sam is the only one permanent in Dean’s world. Sometimes he feels like the only real thing. He slaps Gunny on the back and walks away without a backwards look.

 

On the way back to the trailer, he passes the Sam’s big, blond jock date from bar. He’s being pushed up against a black pickup truck by a smaller guy in red cowboy boots. Dean thinks he might be one of the dancers from earlier. Good for jock boy.

His boots crunch on the gravel as he nears the trailer. “Hey,” he hears Sammy call from the back. Dean walks around to where Sam is sitting on top of picnic table, staring across the fields to the darker shadows of the foothills. Dean shoves a hip up and sits next to him.

Sam’s wearing soft grey sweatpants and a soft t-shirt so old, it’s almost falling part. “Aren’t you cold?” Dean asks.

Sam shrugs, hands Dean the beer he was drinking. Dean takes it, the top of the bottle warm from Sam’s mouth. He leans against his brother, following his gaze into the darkness. “You okay?” he asks.

Sam turns and lays a soft kiss on Dean’s head. “Yeah. I’m great,” he answers softly. “We good?”

Dean lifts his head and smiles as he meets Sam’s eyes. Sam smiles back until his dimples show. “Sammy,” Dean says, “We’re awesome.”

The pass the bottle back and forth, finishing it quickly, enjoying the night breeze and the soft twinkling of the stars. Dean dangles the empty bottle from his fingers. “Bed?” he asks.

Sam hops off the table. Holds out his hand. Dean takes it and follows Sam into the trailer.

 

When they come together that night, it’s quieter then the first time, less desperate, but more intense. They kiss for a long time, exploring each other bodies with hands and mouths; familiar skin and muscles made strange by this new intimacy. Sam’s eyes are huge in the moonlight filtering in through the sheer curtains as Dean slides into him for the first time. Dean’s fingers clench around Sam’s shoulders, nails digging in, as he pulls himself closer and closer against Sam. They rock together quietly, gasps of air and the soft whisper of one another’s names the only sound as they try to draw it out, try to hold onto this moment. Eventually the heat builds too high between them, Sam sweating and writing beneath Dean, and gasping every time Dean pushes in deep. When Sam comes with a deep moan, never breaking eye contact with Dean, it’s too much for Dean. He pushes in one last time to the heat and silken softness and comes with a shudder and Sam’s mouth on his.

And if Dean lets some words out that he wouldn’t say in the day light, words like _love you_ and _mine_ and _stay with me_ , well, there’s no one to hear but Sam and the prairie dogs, and they aren’t talking.

 

The sun is a low red ball spilling light across the prairie as they load up the car the next morning.

Sam comes around to the driver’s side, where Dean stands in the open door, one foot up on the frame, swinging the keys around his fingers. He smiles when he sees Sam.

“Where you headed, cowboy?” Sam asks, hoping Dean picks up the reference from so long ago.

Dean’s smile gets bigger. He remembers. “Nowhere special,” he answers.

Sam tilts his head like he’s thinking it over. “Nowhere special? I always wanted to go there.”

Dean motions to the car. “Come on.”

Sam walks over to the passenger’s side and slides in like he has a million times before.

The sunrise paints the hills behind them a hundred shades of pink as they fly down the road back home.

(And they lived happily ever after, damnit)

**Author's Note:**

> The International Gay Rodeo Association is real and very cool. If you get a chance to see them, do. And while you're at it, check out this YouTube video that made Charlie laugh. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_FEnbHqB1s


End file.
